Winged Stans Au
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Stan and Ford are born with a rare genetic mutation that was thought to be extinct for about 50 years. This is a tale of their adventures growing up. I am open to Ideas/ Prompts for this, please P.M me with your ideas, or leave it in the reviews.
1. Beginnings

**1951 Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey.**

Doctor Winchester walked into the room and prepared himself with a deep breath to break the news as gently as he could to the new parents.

" Mr. Pines? Mrs. Pines? The good news, your twins are perfectly healthy."

Filbrick Pines grunted. " Twins?"

" Yes. Twins. As I was saying, your twins are in perfect health. The other news is slightly more alarming, to say the least."

Gigi Pines looked at him in worry. " So, what's the bad news doctor?"

The doctor shook his head. " No, it's not necessarily bad, just unusual. I don't suppose you recall the old mutation of human wings, do you? It's been several decades since anyone's been born with it..."

Filbrick, for the first time in history, gaped. " Are you saying they've both been born with wings?"

Dr. Winchester nodded. " Yes, and the elder twin has a polydactyl. Six fingers on each hand."

Gigi just looked at him, the surprise slipping off her face and replaced with annoyance. " Well, where are they? I want to hold my boys."

Doctor Winchester smiled at the obvious acceptance the mother had for her children. He had been worried they would throw them away for being so, so _strange._ " Your wish is my command. I'll return in a moment."

And thus the twins were born.

* * *

 **Oh my gosh, someone help me! This is the second random fic I've started today I think I'm gonna cry.**

 **Stan: Why do you keep making me a bird?**

 **Me: Okay Stan, First of all- I did not make this AU. Nor did I invent the other one. Secondly, you are not a bird in this fic, you just have wings. And so does Ford!**

 **Ford: No, I'm with Stan on this one, what the heck is this?**

 **Me: It's an excuse to write pointless fluff! Duh.**

 **I'll try and update this if someone reviews! Please. Your reviews motivate me and I already have another Fic to keep writing so if you want this one to continue, please review. * Hands Stan some money***

 **Stan *sigh*: Review nerds or she will cry.**

 **Ford: Did you bribe my brother to tell the world that you would cry if they didn't review?**

 **Me: No...**


	2. Trust

**So someone actually reviewed! Like they said it was weird, but I'm okay with weird! Let's do this!**

 **10 years later...**

" Sixer! Don't make me do this."

" Nope! It's too late, you already agreed."

" Being half asleep and mumbling 'ugh' doesn't count!"

" We're here!"

Ford held tightly to Stan's hand as he dragged him onto the cliff's edge. Ford's smile dimmed slightly when he saw Stan was shaking. " Are you okay Ley? You're going to do fine! I promise."

Stan's shaking lessened, Ford had never broken a promise before, and he was like a genius or something so if he said Stan would be fine, he would be. Right?

" I-I" Stan swallowed, curse his stuttering! " I'm fine Sixer, but one question, can we do this somewhere else? I don't wanna die."

Ford rolled his eyes. "You're not going to die. First off, you have wings, that's why we're here! So you can use 'em. Secondly, I'm here and I do know how to fly, you've seen me do it, Ley! So I can catch you if you do start to fall- which you won't. And thirdly you know how to swim, that's why I chose this cliff! If you do fall and I can't catch you- which won't happen, but a scientist is prepared- then you can just swim back to shore!"

Stan looked at Ford, then at the sea, then back at Ford. His desire to stay alive briefly thought about continuing the argument, but what argument did he have? Ford was right, he would be fine.

He hoped.

Stan took a deep breath. " Okay, what do I do?"

Ford grinned again and started to explain. " I'm sure I could go on about the science behind it all- but that would just bore you, so this is what you have to do. Stretch out your wings, jump and fly. Try and catch the wind with your wings. That's how you glide. If you can't then just flap them. Oh, and don't look straight down. Okay, that's it I think. You can do it, Ley!"

Stan closed his eyes. _Ma's gonna kill me._

With that thought, Stan ran has fast and hard as he could towards the cliff- and hurled himself off the edge.

Stan's pure white wings immediately unfurled, naturally holding him aloft. A feeling of surprise and _joy_ ran through him as he felt himself rising higher towards the clouds rather than falling into the water. Deciding it was worth the risk- Stan opened his eyes. _Woah._

He could see _everything_. The town. The beach. The waves beneath him, gently lapping the shore. Ford. A very excited and bouncy Ford Pines. The wind whistled around his ears, so it made hearing his brother's chants difficult, but he knew the words anyway. _Pines! Pines! Pines! I told ya so Ley!_

Stan laughed at his brother's antics and made his way back towards the cliff. The wind was loud while flying, but rather slow that day so Stan managed to gently glide back down and only scrap his hands as he caught himself on the rough stone. Ford immediately ran to his side.

" I told ya you could do it! You were brilliant! Oh, are your hands alright?" Ford took one of his hands, the one that was bleeding slightly, and examined it while he spewed about how he knew Stan could do it. Stan smiled. He had never been so glad to hear ' I told you so.'

* * *

 **Stan: Okay. I'm not even sure how to respond to this.**

 **Ford: Only because you know it's perfectly accurate to how you would have acted, were that situation to actually come to pass.**

 **Me: Just say you loved it already, I know. It's amazing random fluff. I don't think this Fic is going to have any sort of contained plot, more like one-shots of Winged Stan milestones in there lives. Maybe I'll write about Ford learning to fly next. I dunno. Please feel free to review!**


	3. Silly worries

**So one two people read this story, and as long as they want me to, it shall continue! I NEED IDEAS PEOPLE. It's gonna be pointless fluff and angst until then.**

 **7 years later a couple months before ' The Incident'.**

" So when is she coming over?" Ford's fingers drummed against the cover of the book he had been trying to read and his wings twitched nervously.

Stan had been talking about absolutely nothing other than his new girlfriend for the last month and today Ford would finally get to meet her, and he was extremely nervous. He was never good at talking to girls, even if it were just about the weather, he ended up messing it up somehow. Ford didn't want Stan or this Carla McCorkle upset with him. Stan was his only friend and he might never talk to Ford again if he messed this up.

Stan watched Ford with a mix of amusement and concern. " Hey, calm down. If I know either of you, and I just happen to know both of you, you two are gonna be best friends."

Ford continued to twitch as he gave Stan a doubtful look. " You didn't answer the question."

Stan rolled his eyes. Standing up off the couch he had been laying on, Stan stretched, wings nearly touching the ceiling before glancing at the clock on the wall. " Five minutes tops."

Ford put down the book. He wasn't reading it anyways.

Exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds later, (Ford had been counting.) Stan and Ford both got up as they heard the tell-tale sound of the pawn shop door open.

" Hello, welcome to Pines Pawns."

" Hi, I'm Carla, is Stan here?"

Stan came bouncing down the stairs. " Hey, baby! Pa this is Carla." Stan ran up to her and enveloped her in a large hug, wings naturally curling around her protectively.

Realizing Carla was not a costumer, Filbrick Pines grunted and went back to reading his paper.

Carla laughed, used to both her boyfriend's antics and mutation. " Stan, I can't see a thing!"

Stan let her go with a laugh of his own. " That's 'cause your blind."

Carla pushed him away playfully, " Says the man who forgoes wearing his glasses, on _purpose_."

Stan just chuckled good-naturedly before glancing around the room. " Speaking of glasses, where'd my Nerd go?"

Ford had been hiding on the staircase. He shyly poked his head around the wall, keeping both his wings and hands hidden. " Present."

Stan rolled his eyes again, grabbed Carla's hand and bounded over to where his brother was hiding. " C'mon lets go back upstairs and we can have some proper introductions."

Ford ran back up the stairs and curled himself back on the couch before either of them made it up the stairs. When they got back upstairs, Ford was hiding behind his large white wings, completely obscured from view.

Stan glanced at his brother in concern, this was just getting ridiculous.

Carla smiled. Motioning for Stan to stay where he was, Carla stepped over to where Ford was sitting. " Hi, I'm Carla! I would say I like your wings, but Stan has the exact same pair and that would be like complimenting him and he had a big enough ego already."

There was a muffled laugh from within the shield of feathers. Carla grinned at Stan in triumph and Stan walked over. " Ford, would you like to come out of Feather town now? I'd like to stare at my face for awhile, just 'cause it's so gorgeous."

One wing dropped slightly, revealing Ford's face. Ford snorted. " Go find a mirror ya narcissist." Glancing shyly over towards Carla, Ford smiled. " Hi."

Carla smiled sweetly. " Hey! You made it! Sort of." She gestured to his wings that still hid the rest of him from behind a wall of white.

Ford flushed, " Sorry." He moved them slowly behind him as he uncurled from his position. It revealed a near carbon copy of Stan wearing glasses, a sweater and holding a large, heavy looking book. Oh, and blushing as red as a tomato. Carla didn't think Stan ever blushed. _They seem like such different people, despite looking so alike._

Stan, deciding it was time to properly intercede, picked up Carla bridal style and placed her right next to Ford. Ford shifted away slightly but remained on the couch.

" Okay nerds. I have a surprise for ya." Both Carla and Ford looked at each other and then back at Stan. A surprise from Stan Pines? This can't be good.

Stan walked over to the T.V and turned it on." You're welcome."

Ford and Carla both looked at him questioningly. Ford spoke first. " Um. Ley? You just turned on the T.V. "

Stan grinned. " I know." Stan placed a tape Ford didn't recognize into the machine.

Carla crossed her arms. " Okay Stan, what is this?"

The tape began it's opening credits and Both Ford and Carla gasped. " Star Trek!" They turned to each other. " You're a Trekkie too?!"

Stan started laughing uncontrollably. He took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. " Told ya you two would get along."

* * *

 **So I saw a Fic with Carla and Ford both being Trekkies and I'm a Trekkie too so I had to make this. Also, the idea of shy Ford was just impossible to get out of my head. I purposely didn't make his hands a big deal 'cause Stan had already told her about them and Ford refused to show them anyways so they never became an issue. And they both had wings already, I mean anything else was just interesting at that point. Also, Ford didn't recognize the tape because it was the new release so yeah.**

 **Stan: I like this Carla more than the real one. *Mutters* Stupid hippie.**

 **Ford: You are an interesting writer Carmen. You enjoy torturing Stan and embarrassing me. I, I can barely read this fluff- I mean stuff! Although I do like the fact we bond over Star Trek. Amazing show.**

 **Me: FLUFF!**


	4. 1: Lies

**So I got a great prompt idea from jord477, so this is for you jord477! Warning: Pain and sadness ahead. Tw: hints at parental abuse. ( Not from the mother, of course, filbrick can go crawl in a ditch.)**

 **Middle school: So like thirteen years old? Idk, this timeline I'm writing keeps jumping all over the place.**

Ford had been having a great day. He woke up, got to school and managed to go all day without any altercations.

He knew it was too good to last.

He was just too weird. Having wings was hard enough, but being socially inept and having his polydactyl, along with his amazing intellect, just made him the perfect target.

" Hey! Bird Nerd!"

Ford was being cornered in the back of the school. He thought about flying away, but Pa told them not to fly in public, and a beating wasn't the worst Pa could do. Turning around, Ford faced his attackers, heart beating faster than a hummingbird. _How appropriate._

" What do you want, Crampelter?" Crampelter sneered at Ford's pathetic attempt at nonchalance.

" Don't talk to me like that, you six fingered flying _freak."_

Crampelter started forward, his cronies flanking him, and Ford hastily tried to move back, before falling on his but. _Not the best day to be physically inferior, Pines._

Ford gulped at Crampelter moved towards him, fists on full display. Ford closed his eyes, tensing for the inevitable pain.

It didn't come.

Ford opened his eyes with a gasp when he heard a grunt of pain, but not from him. Stanley had flown over towards him and landed on Crampelters back.

Crampelter flailed his arms, trying to fling Stan of his back. Stan was holding him in a chokehold, holding on for dear life. Ford saw Crampelters cronies, Jack and Rick, move to help Crampelter.

" Lee! Watch out!" Stanley looked behind him to see the two coming up behind him. Stan swung his body weight towards them, making Crampelter move backward and smash into them. Stan yelled out from the pile of people, still struggling with all three boys.

" Ford, run!"

Ford stayed for a moment, his mind running a million miles an hour. ( Not possible, but whatever.) What were the chances of him actually managing to help? He wasn't nearly good enough at boxing to do anything other than get in Stan's way. No, he should go get help.

" Stanley! I'm gonna go get help!" Ford ran off, still adverse to using his wings, even though Stan did. Ford begged whatever force was out there Pa didn't find out about that.

* * *

Stan was exhausted. After Ford left, Rick and Jack managed to hold him down while Crampelter gave him a cliche evil villain speech.

" Thought you could beat us, Birdbrain? That's hilarious. A little freak like you, thinking he could be the superhero and save his freak brother. At least your brother has something going for him! You really do have the brain of a bird."

Stan spat at him with as much menace as a thirteen your old could muster.

Crampelter sidestepped and he missed. Sneering, the bully held him by his throat. " Oh, your gonna pay for that."

* * *

Ford ran, and ran, but by the time he managed to find anyone who actually cared about what he was saying, it was too late. Ford returned to find his brother and the bullies missing. Where did they go? Ford tried to reason through his worry. Maybe Stan won and went home? Ford tried not to think about the other options...that Stan was missing because...no, that didn't happen. Stan's fine. Running back to the house, Ford prayed once again to...whatever that Stan would be at home.

Ford burst into the pawn shop, panting for breath. Looking around briefly, Ford thanked his lucky stars no one was there. Running upstairs, Ford went straight for there bedroom.

" Stanley!"

Stanley looked up from his bed. He grinned. " Hey, Poindexter! Glad you could make it."

Ford took a moment to examine his brother. He was laying in bed, blanket over him, concealing his wings, reading a comic. His face looked a little scratched up, but nothing serious. Ford sighed in relief. ( There was nothing suspicious about being under a blanket, after all.) " Stanley, you really scared me there. I thought you had gotten hurt, or worse! What if Crampelter killed you or somethin' Stanley?! And if word gets out about what you did..." Ford's voice trailed off. They both knew what he was talking about.

Stan shrugged. " What? That I flew? I couldn't leave you hangin' bro! He was gonna hit you!"

Ford sighed, this time in agitation. " I know that Stanley, but I don't want you getting hurt because of me!"

Stanley frowned. " It wasn't your fault Crampelter is a jerk. Look, I'm fine! Anyways, I don't think Pops is gonna find out. My face is always scruffed up anyway. Kinda be suspicious if it wasn't, actually."

Ford gave a small laugh. " True, but you promise me your okay?"

Stan looked him straight in the eye, grinning. " Promise."

Stanley was always a great liar.

* * *

 **Okay, so this story is gonna be a two-parter! Sorry, not sorry. Watch out for the update!**

 **Stan: I can see this happening.**

 **Ford *glares at Stan accusingly*: What?**

 **Stan: Uh, nothing.**

 **Ford: Don't lie to me, Stanley.**

 **Stan: I lie to you all the time Ford.**

 **Ford: WHAT?**

 **Stan: ... Okay, So I might have nearly died from that brand you burnt on my back. I kept it from you for the same reason the story Stan kept his injuries from story Ford. I didn't want ya to worry, plus it was years ago. And if you really want the truth, I nearly died out of the streets too. I wasn't actually a traveling salesman, that's stupid. I can't believe you bought that actually.**

 **Ford: ...**

 **Stan: ...**

 **Ford: I'm going to kill you.**

 **Stan *nervous laughter*: What?**

 **Ford: I change my mind, I'm going to baby you since you can't seem to handle that, it's a more fit punishment.**

 **Stan: I swear to you Sixer if you dare...**

 **Please review! Hope you enjoyed.**


	5. 2: Dreams

**So here's part 2 for ya! Enjoy! Tw: for self-putting down? Stubborn Stans? It gets a little bloody, but not too descriptive. Also my version of swears, they are hilarious, better watch out.**

Stan waited until Ford had fallen asleep before getting rid of the blanket. Biting his tongue, he tried to ignore the pain that was shooting through his wings all the way down his back.

After Ford left, Crampelter had continued to taunt Stanley, calling him a useless pigeon while breaking off and occasionally plucking off feathers from his wings. The leftover carnage was bloody and painful, but Stan hid the pain behind a smile. He couldn't hurt Ford by letting him see what Crampelter had done. Stan wasn't worth worrying over. Not if it hurt Sixer.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, Stan twisted his head to look at the damage. He winced and looked away, pushing back his tears that had been threatening to spill over since the adrenaline had drained out of him.

His once pristine, white wings were coated in blood. Pieces of broken off feathers were sticking out at awkward angles and a good one-fourth of them were completely gone.  
Stan clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the need to sob that had overwhelmed him.

Taking a moment to steady himself, Stan took a deep breath. It was gonna be okay. All he had to do was get rid of the broken pieces and all of it would grow back in no time!

Right?

Taking another breath, Stan let himself sink to the floor and did his best to maneuver his wings into his lap. Usually, when they groomed their wings or fixed them up, they did it for each other. Stan fixing Ford's and Ford fixing Stan's, but now Stan was alone. _It's a good thing, Sixer don' wanna see this._ Stan didn't want to scare Ford with how bad they seemed. It seemed unnecessary to cause him stress over something Stan could fix himself. Sure, Stan let Sixer groom 'em and patch them up when he got the occasional bloody feather, but that was normal stuff. Everyday scuffs and scratches much like the ones that adorned his face.

This was worse. Way worse. And there was no way in heck Stan was gonna let Sixer see it.

He had his hand hovering above the first broken feather. Stan had broken off feathers before, it wasn't too painful, really.

It was pulling them out that hurt more than swallowing burning coal. _I'm never gonna survive this, there's too many...no! I'm a Pines man. Were tougher than anything! Quit being a baby, Stan._

Stan grabbed it and swiftly yanked.

 _HOLY SHOOTFACE SNICKERDOODLE DANDY THAT FUDGING HURTS!_

Stan couldn't hold back the tears this time and let them fall to the ground as they came faster and faster. He knew that if he wanted to get this done, he couldn't sit and contemplate the pain after each pulling, so he wasted no time moving on to the next one, and the next.

By the time he was finished, bloody feathers littered the floor and his wings were filthy. His face was running with tears and he couldn't stop the sob that escaped him. As the pain slowly dulled, Stan started cleaning up the mess he'd made. The only thing he could think was, _How am I suppose to hide this?_

The answer to that question came the following morning.

Stan had gone straight to bed after taking a short shower, relieved to find Ford fast asleep in the top bunk. He fell asleep quickly, the pain had exhausted him, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, it was before Ford. A rare occurrence, but a blessing to Stan's mission. It gave him time to plan.

For most birds, a plucked feather before molting season would take at least a year to regrow. Thankfully Stan didn't have to wait that long. The longest time either had waited for a feather was about two weeks. ( When Stan asked why there was such a large time difference, Ford had gone on and on in some science jargon Stan didn't understand a word of and eventually got bored.) With the sheer amount Stan lost, he wouldn't be surprised if it took longer, but a man could hope, couldn't he?

Searching their bedroom, Stan found what he had been looking for.

It was an old cape from Halloween costume they had made. It was purple and large enough to cover his wings. All he had to do was spin a story about why he wanted to wanted to wear it and no one would be the wiser! Draping it over his back, Stan tied it to his neck. It was slightly uncomfortable, but Stan shrugged it off. He could handle it.

An hour later, Ford woke up. Stan had apparently woken up _really_ early, ( probably because of the pulsing pain in his back.) So he already had a story prepared about why he was wearing a cape if Ford even bothered to ask.

* * *

Ford yawned. The exhaustion not quite ready to abandon him. He had the most strange dream that night. But the details were quickly running from him as he tried to remember what it had been about. Something about pliers? He could recall the feeling of something being tugged. Maybe he dreamt he was at the dentist? Ford shrugged it off after a moment. The dream hadn't turned into a nightmare, so Ford wasn't too concerned about it. Ma always said dreams were a way of communication, but Ford was always skeptical  
when it came to her 'physic' tendencies. She had openly admitted to being fraudulent on the phone anyway. Claiming she kept the 'true' prophecies for family or people 'important' to the future.

Jumping off the top bunk, Ford turned around to wake up Stanley. Ford's gaze landed on empty bedsheets. _Oh. He must have woken up early._ Ford took it in stride and went to get ready for the day before heading down to breakfast, yesterday's scuffle already forgotten.

* * *

 **Part three will be out, probably tomorrow. I don't wanna end it there, so no worries about that! I was like super tired when I wrote this so...Please don't judge if it sucks. And yes. That is actually how I swear. Feel free to use my version rather than the actual swear words. Try it out for a month, I promise it'll make you laugh. Thanks to all of you who read and review!**

 **Ford: Stanley! Come here, please!**

 **Stan: What?**

 **Ford *gestures at the fic. *: Please tell me you've never done this when you didn't have to.**

 **Stan: ...**

 **Ford: Stanley! You know it's not a weakness to get help on occasion, right?**

 **Stan: I know.**

 **Ford: ...**

 **Stan: ...**

 **Stan: Want some ice cream?**

 **Ford: I suppose. You're still in trouble for being a stubborn butthead though.**

 **Stan: I know.**

 **Please feel free to review! ( To jord477 I hope this is what you wanted! It turned out longer than I expected...I'm making a part 3. Can't end it here, can I? I wouldn't do that to you guys.)**


	6. 3: Promises

**Okay, sorry this took so long. I know I probably could have left the Angst story in chapter two, but I wanted Ford to confront Stan about why he was hiding his wings so much, so this was born! This will be the last chapter for this prompt, so feel free to send in any more prompts/ ideas you want to see of the winged Stan twins. If I don't receive any then it'll go back to being pointless fluff.**

 **Just some clarification, Filbrick doesn't want them flying in public because he's a jerk and he thinks his kids are freaks, but they can go out to the beach and fly if they wanna. Tw: Ford is bossy. But he cares, which is the point. Also, I feel like they talk like they are adults so, sorry about that. Not too great at making them sound like kids, but they are. 10 years old. Ah, I'm rambling. Enjoy!**

* * *

Ford thought he might be going crazy.

Ever since the day of the fight Ford had a strange feeling in the back of his mind something was wrong. Stan was acting strange, never taking off that cloak of his, claiming it gave him 'good luck'. He hadn't let Ford see his wings in over a week and refused to go flying with Ford the several times Ford had asked him.

He wasn't sure what to think. All he knew was that it was all very concerning. Ford knew Stan's wings were still _there._ He could see them through the cloth.

So what was going on?

* * *

He let the strange behavior slide for all of a week before finally deciding to confront his brother. Taking a deep breath, Ford turned to Ley, who was currently adjusting the poles holding up Fort Stan.

" Stanley?"

Stan turned and his smiled dimmed slightly when he saw how tense Ford was.

" Wha's up, Poindexter? You okay?"

Ford decided on being blunt, a language Stan seemed to understand the best.

" There is something wrong with your wings."

Stan jumped slightly at the less of a question and more of an accusatory statement. Giving Ford his most toothy smile, he tried to wave off Ford's concern.

" What? Ya think there's somethin' wrong with my wings? This is 'cause of the cape, innit? I told ya it gives me good luck."

Ford shook his head. " Stop it, Stanley. I haven't seen your wings in a week and you keep refusing to fly with me. I'm not asking you, I'm telling. Something's wrong with your wings and I want you to show me."

Stan's emotions were an open book, and Ford could read any book, especially an open one. Stan was feeling both offended and...scared? Why?

Stan shifted uncomfortably. He knew he couldn't keep up the con any longer. He just didn't want Ford to feel bad about something he had no control over. Ford was pretty good at that. So, like when he was treating his wings, he didn't hesitate. He slipped the cape off in one smooth motion and looked at the wall when Ford gasped.

Despite having an entire week of healing under his wing (heh) Stan's were still an utter mess of missing and half grown feathers.

Ford's heart sank right down to his boots. " Ley..." He reached out a hand and gently stroked his brother's wings. Dragging his brother over to the bed, Ford began to silently straighten Stan's wings. When he could find his voice again, Ford had to ask.

" Wha' happened Ley? Why?..." His voice trailed off. It hurt so much, knowing his brother had gotten so hurt, yet hadn't told him. Ford wasn't a fool. He knew it must have been incredibly painful to deal with this extent of damage on his own. Yet Stan went through with it anyway.

Stan, who had let Ford fuss over him, shrugged.

Ford wasn't having it. " Stanley. Tell me."

Stan rolled his eyes, Ford could be so bossy. " Crampelter, who else?"

It was Ford's turn to roll his eyes. " I know that. I want to know why you didn't tell me. Don't you trust me? I could have helped you." Oh no, Ford sounded _hurt._

Stanley felt...stupid. Maybe keeping it from Ford hadn't been such a great idea. He ended up finding out anyway. Stan tried to keep the pain out of his voice.

" I didn't want ya to know, 'cause I knew you were gonna blame yerself. Since I was savin' ya and all. I didn't want ya to feel guilty or nothin'."

Ford sighed, exasperated. " Stanley, don't be ridiculous. I want to help."

Stan shrugged again.

Ford turned Stan to face him. " Promise me you'll tell me next time?"

Stan looked into Ford's large, pleading eyes. How could he say no? " I promise."

And this time, he meant it.

* * *

 **Ah! It's finally done! I hope you liked it. I hope that this is what you wanted jord477. You can all blame that guy for this angsty story. Anyway, let's ask our favorite twins what they thought.**

 **Stan: I bet I could say no to Ford's puppy eyes. This Stan is weak.**

 **Ford: Liar. You've succumbed to them under much less pressing circumstances, like last night when I begged you to let me update your car.**

 **Stan: I woulda said no if I knew that 'update' meant making it fly!**

 **Ford: Come on Stanley! It was only logical! On the plus side, you don't have to worry about replacing the tires anymore.**

 **Stan: Because it doesn't have any! I am very attached to that car and its wheels, Ford! They've saved my butt on countless occasions.**

 **Ford: That's beside the point. The point was, you've succumbed to my begging before. Not that I really begged. More like asked.**

 **Stan: ...Shut up, Nerd.**

 **Ford: You can't end all arguments that way Stanley.**

 **Stan: Shut it, Nerd.**

 **Ford: I give up. Please feel free to leave a review on miss Carmen's story. *exits***

 **Hehe, I think they liked it! Before I go, does anybody read these things on the bottom? Like seriously, does anybody care about it?**


	7. Bronchitis

**This is another prompt chapter, so here we go! Prompt from jord477, obviously, because he's the only one who consistently reads this and reviews. Tw: Just Filbrick being a horrible person. As usual. Oh and he's sick. Stan that is.**

 **New Jersey, 1958.**

Stan was at school, doodling in a notebook, (his math notebook) when he started feeling...strange. His chest tightened and his throat felt oddly sore. Stan wanted to raise his hand to ask to go to the nurse, but he was already in trouble for something. Always something. So he stayed silent, and the feeling got worse.

By the end of the day, Ford was watching him worriedly as Stan clenched his pencil, much tighter than necessary. His wings wrapping themselves around him in an attempt to comfort himself.

His head was pounding and he found the urge to cough harder and harder to fight off. When the bell rang, Stan stood up too quickly and nearly fell over. He felt exhausted! Ford was at his side when he looked up. When had he started coughing? All he knew was that it hurt. It hurt a lot.

* * *

Ford was getting worried. Stan was acting...odd. His wings kept tensing and unfurling and he couldn't seem to sit straight. When their eyes met, Stan smiled as if all was well, and that just made Ford even more concerned. Stan always kept quiet about his own ailments. This strange behavior continued until the end of the day. When the bell rang, Ford was about to inquire whether Stan was alright, when he stood up and started hacking, a wet, loud coughing, that must have been painful.

Ford rushed to his side, " Lee! Are you okay? Are you sick? You've been acting weird."

Stan just nodded weakly. He moved to start walking, but Ford wasn't gonna let him walk home in his state. Anyway, just because Stan was always boasting about his strength, didn't mean Ford wasn't strong too. Ford half carried Stan outside and, grabbing his waist, lifted off into the air.

Flying with someone clinging to your waist was pretty uncomfortable, and Ford didn't really enjoy it, but Stan had done it for him when he couldn't walk. ( Usually after a severe beating from Crampelter.) So Ford figured he could suck it up. Stan deserved it.

Stan had made a few weak attempts to walk on his own or even fly home, but Ford wouldn't let go. Stan didn't need to do it by himself. He wasn't alone.

Ford made it home in record time. It wasn't until he landed, however, that he recalled that he wasn't supposed to fly in public. _Dangit! I hope Pops doesn't find out..._

Sneaking Stan inside was simple. Less so was getting him to lay down and rest.

" But we were gonna go explore the beach today!" Stan argued. Ford rolled his eyes.

" We can do that some other day! You need to rest, or do you want me to get Ma?" Stan curled up in his wings and laid back in defeat. Ford threw a blanket over him.

" I'm gonna find my book on illnesses, you should be diagnosed, in case this is worse than we thought."

Stan groaned, " I'm fine! But I won't be if ya start readin' yer nerd words."

Ford ignored him and continued to dig through the pile of books on his bed and desk. " Where did I put it?..."

* * *

 **I dunno if this is gonna continue, it wasn't super angsty or fluffy, sorry. But I hope you enjoyed! Kudo's to whoever guesses what Stan has! Leave your guess in the reviews!**

 **Stan: It's bronchitis.**

 **Ford: You just ruined the game, Stan! And how did you know what it was?**

 **Stan: It was pretty obvious...**

 **Ford: You've had it before, haven't you?**

 **Stan: Almost everyone has, it's pretty common, Ford!**

 **Ford: You're avoiding the question again.**

 **Stan: I've had it plenty of times, alright? Yeesh.**

 **Ford: ...**

 **Stan: What?**

 **Ford: Why is it that I've never had it, but you have? Even though I fell through the portal, I feel like you've been through worse. I-I I'm sorry about that.**

 **Stan: ... Yeesh. It was just a cough, Ford.**

 **Sorry about these two, they've got issues. Love you all! Don't forget to review!**


	8. The good 'ole days

**HEYO! I'm here. Got a laptop for a bit, decided to write. So here we go! All prompts are from Jord477. She's awesome! So here we go:**

 **Prompt: Fluffy kid Stans playing with paint. OR they paint their wings because WHY NOT!?**

 **19 something. They're in kindergarten.**

They were in school. For most kids, this was an upsetting fact. But for Ford and Stan, it was an awesome one.

Ford loved school and Stan loved making people laugh. So, School was their third favorite place to be. It was only after school, when the bullies weren't being watched, that both Ford and Stan truly dreaded.

At the moment, both were in art. They were finger painting, and Stan kept telling Ford he was already better than everyone else with his extra finger. Ford flushed with happiness. Stan always made things more positive.

The paints were passed out and the teacher told them to 'have at it.'

For the first half of class, everyone enjoyed painting on their paper. Until Stan ran out of room on his. A mischevious smirk spread across his face as he deliberately dipped his hand in the blue paint and swiped it across Ford's white wings.

Ford gasped. " LEY!"

Lee just laughed, " HA! GOTCHA!"

Ford looked upset for a moment before he quickly returned the favor and splattered Stan's own wings with the purple paint he had been using. Stan gaped, then his smirk returned. " Oh, it's on!"

Before long, the entire class joined in painting both twins wings. The teacher kept on reading her book, seeing no real harm in the game.

Needless to say, their mom was not amused when they came home. ( Sent home early no less. )

* * *

 **Haha, you can blame Jord for this! Like everything else, I write in this au. Sorry It's short, I don't have much time with the laptop. Hope you enjoyed!**


	9. I hate Bill Cipher

**Prompt from: CrystalFreeze. You can thank them for this. (you've got competition Jord477! hehe.)**

 **Prompt: Bill Cipher's reaction to Ford's wings.**

 **I wasn't sure if I wanted Bill in this au, but I guess it's happening. So here you go!**

* * *

He thought he had woken up for a moment. Yet everything was different. The ground was non-existent and there were random pieces of paper and books floating in the air. _I must be dreaming_. Ford thought. After walking in the void of whatever this was for a while, Ford found a book he recognized and started to read.

An unmeasurable amount of time passed this way until-

HEYA SMART GU- WHAT? OH, I MUST HAVE THE WRONG DIMENSION! SEE YA SIXER!

Ford watched as what he thought to be some sort of talking corn chip disappear with a blaze of light. _Well. That was...strange. I think I want to wake up now._

* * *

 **Stan: What the freak was that?**

 **Ford: I too have a few questions.**

 **Me: Okay, okay. We all know the Bill Cipher sucks and we all hate him. And I'm too lazy to fully incorporate him in this au. So! I made it that Bill accessed the wrong Ford's mindscape. He meant to go to the canon Ford's dream, but ended in our winged Ford's instead, and left. So yep. I want this to have actually happened though. Like, before he got to canon Ford's dream, he accidentally accessed a different one and just leaves with no explanation.**

 **Depending on the prompt, all Bill cipher prompt's are probably going to be really short, but I will write them. Unless it's shippy, ew.**

 **( I don't think that Bill would be too surprised to see a man with wings, he's a dream demon with infinite knowledge after all. And all his friends are 'freaks' too. Not that Ford's a freak, of course not.)**


	10. Forever ( Not romance, ever)

**This has no prompt. I just wanted something longer to atone for that really small chapter.**

 **19 something, they can be whatever age you imagine them to be. I think of them as teenagers in this.**

Stan and Ford were lounging in their room. Stan was lying on his bed, wings flopping off to the side, along with his arms. Ford was sitting at his desk, combing through an old textbook. Something he had already read. Stan groaned.

" I'm so bored!"

Ford looked up from his book to his brother. He closed the book with a sigh. " Me too. Wanna go to the beach?"

Stan stood quickly, " Yeah! Better than this stuffy room anyway."

They went to the window and climbed outside, and headed towards the roof. They had started sneaking out this way a couple years back when Stan realized that they could launch off from the roof and their parents wouldn't notice at all. They made it to the roof and sat for a moment. Ford huffed when he sat. Despite constantly hanging out with his twin, Ford still wasn't as active as Stan was. He wasn't sure anyone was.

With equally mischevious grins they launched off from the roof. Neither of them got used to how freeing flying was. It was more than either could describe, although Ford certainly tried with his large reserve of nerd words.

The air was warm for the first time in months and they landed on the beach without incident. The sun was sinking past the horizon, leaving the sky in multiple shades of pink and orange. Stan sighed contentedly.

" Tha's better. It's really nice out tonight. Although, it's gonna rain tomorrow. I can feel it in my feathers." Stan fluffed his wings playfully. Ford laughed.

" Your such a fibber. You can do no such thing, and neither can I." Ford walked towards there favorite swingset. Stan followed with an indignant huff.

" Tell that to me again when yer soakin' wet!"

They laughed again. Settling into a comfortable silence. It was relaxing, getting away from the house where both of them knew they were unwanted. Both were sure that their mother loved them, but their father...that was another story altogether.

Ford had thought it through many times and came to the conclusion that he was saved from their Father's wrath, but Stan? Stan was very charismatic. Loved joking around and helping others. Ford could practically see the kindness emanate from his twin.

But a good heart meant very little to their Pop. Stan was failing school. And it wasn't because he wasn't smart. He could do plenty of things no problem! Ford had witnessed Stan fix up that car of his with little to no problem. It was when he was asked to work on paper or explain how he found this or that, that Stan had real issues with. And school was all about showing work, putting things into equations and paper. They didn't care that Stan knew how to do it. Just that he couldn't show it.

In all honesty, Ford was concerned. He knew Stan had stopped trying in school. He didn't really blame Stan either. After years of being ignored or reprimanded, he might have given up trying to make the teachers understand too.

Stan was smart, he knew it. But the world wouldn't care. Not if he didn't have a high school diploma, at the very least.

Ford looked over at his brother. Stan was staring into the sunset with a very small smile. Ford smiled with him.

Even if the world abandoned him, Ford never would. Stan would always have Ford.

And Ford would always have Stan.

* * *

 **IT's so FLUFFY!**

 **I don't know where this came from. Your welcome.**

 **Stan: I like this more than Canon. Ford actually care about me.**

 **Ford: I always did! I just...got stupid.**

 **Stan: You're hanging out with Mabel too much.**

 **Ford: That's impossible.**

 **Stan: You're right. No one can have too much Mabel.**

 **Ford: No, I mean, were on the ocean, how could I be hanging out with her? She's miles away.**

 **Stan: Pffft. Like that would keep ya from either of the twins.**

 **Ford: *Laugh* Your right. It wouldn't. Skype is indeed wonderful.**

 **Stan: *Snort***

 **Ford: What?**

 **Stan: Nothing.**

 **( I feel like I have to say this. I hate Stancest. It is really gross and disturbing. So, yeah. Nothing I do will ever be like that. Never read it that way, please.)**


	11. Mabel enters the scene

**I GOT MORE PROMPTS! CrystalFreeze gave me more FLUFFY PROMPTS YES! YAY! Super excited! Thank that person for these! Let's do this. NOTE: My au is veered more towards the mystery trio thing, so this doesn't connect properly to the other chapters, it's a stand-alone-ish sort of thing. Because Bill isn't in my au, remember? So Ford never fell in the portal. So this is like an au of my au. Or something. Also, this is really crappy because I'm not good at writing dipper and Mabel. Or Stan interacting with them. Sorry.**

 **Prompt: Stan meets Dipper and Mabel. Mabel sparkleifyes Stan's wings.**

Dipper was NOT excited. What on earth were they going to do in a tiny town for entire three months?

Mabel was slightly more optimistic. " C'mon Dipper! This is gonna be fun! Nothing but woods, small town people and a grumpy old man for three months!"

" You realized everything you just named is the opposite of awesome, right?"

" Pffft. Such a downer Dip-Dop! Imagine all the squirrels we'll get to see!"

Dipper shook his head. This was going to suck.

Their great uncle came out of nowhere! They had been walking up to the 'Mystery Shack' when he appeared with a _Bang!_ Dipper shouted in surprise, but Mabel took it stride. She ran right up to him.

" WOAH! That was awesome! OH MY GOSH DIPPER HE HAS FEATHERS COMING OUT OF HIS BACK!"

Once Dipper's surprise wore off, Dipper studied the man before him. He had a suit, an 8 ball cane, a fez and two very large feathery white wings. Dipper's eyes widened. " Woah! that's so cool!"

The man preened. (hehe, like a bird? Get it? *Crawls in the box of shame.*) " I know." The man grinned.

* * *

Stan was terrified. He wasn't fit to be a caretaker! His hands shook as he wrapped his wings around himself, an old habit to comfort himself. Pulling himself together with a deep breath, he brought out his suit and pulled it on with a shaky sigh. He practiced smiling in the mirror he had installed on the wall. A trained eye might notice the nerves fraying him alive from the inside, but a couple of kids?

It was showtime.

*Haha like 2 minutes pass and I'm too lazy to write it out.*

Stan wasn't sure what he expected. Most people he met thought he was lying when he told them the wings were real. They would tug at the feathers, sometimes pulling them out entirely, so he stopped telling the truth. He would smile and tell kids and adults alike that they were a prop he had an attachment to. Kinda weird in Stan's mind, but they bought it.

The kids, after his abrupt appearance, seemed to take an instant liking to him. The boy- Dipper- started rambling in science jargon. Stan assumed this meant they knew his wings were real. The girl-Mabel- looked like she wanted to pet them. Stan didn't really enjoy letting others touch his wings. _Of course, all they care about are my wings, their kids. What did I expect?_

When they were kids, Stan and Ford would groom each other's wings, but no one else, not even their mother, after they learned how to do it themselves. It felt sort of...personal? Like something you keep between close family and friends.

He supposed they were family...

He would think about it.

He cleared his throat to get them to quiet down and started giving them the tour. _It's just another tour Stanley, no need to freak._ They talked the entire walk through the house. Stan ignored most of it but answered the one or two questions he could glean from the boy's rambling and the girl's shouts of joy. Stan did notice the less than subtle glances that the girl-Mabel, right. Mabel gave him. It was obvious she wasn't gonna let it go for a while.

Finally, they made it to the room Stan had prepared for them. (He had the attic, he still liked climbing to the roof. Old habits die hard.) They seemed satisfied by it, at least Mabel seemed comfortable. She immediately started placing posters up. He told them the basic rules. Don't die, don't bother him, etc. Then left them to their own devices.

He ran up the stairs back to his own room in the attic. Slumping on his bed, he loosened his tie with his fingers. He had to admit, he liked the two gremilns. They reminded him of him and Ford before...

Stan sighed. This was gonna be a long, long summer.

* * *

Mabel squealed. " Dipper! Look! A miscellaneous fluid! I'm naming it Jeff."

Dipper sat on his bed with a huff, " That is...disturbing." Dipper smirked at his sister and they both laughed. Mabel rolled off the bed and the laughter only escalated until they were on the floor, breathless. They fell into a comfortable silence until Mabel's eyebrows shot up in excitement.

" Hey, Dipper?! Do you think he'll let me groom his wings?! I have so many ideas! And well, they looked a little worse for wear. Or was that just me?"

Dipper nodded, sitting up slowly in response to the slightly more serious turn the conversation had taken. " No, I noticed it too. I read that book on birds that mom gave me for Christmas and it says that almost all social birds let others groom them. But it's also a trust thing, something you do with family. I know that Great-Un-"

" Grunkle. I made it up just now! It's perfect!"

Dipper nodded and continued. " Grunkle Stan isn't a bird, but I think it might be the same."

Mabel's head fell to the side in question, " Maybe it's like when people do each other's hair?"

He thought for a moment, before shaking his head. " Mabel, if you made a friend, let's say...right now. And she asked if she could do your hair, would you say no?"

Mabel didn't even need to think about it. " No! I mean yes! I mean, I would let her! Free hairdo's for everyone!" She bounced excitedly from her spot on the floor.

" Exactly. I don't think it's the same. The wings require feathers to function. It takes trust to let someone manipulate them. We just met, Mabel. So, I don't believe he'll let you anywhere near them for a while." Dipper saw her face fall slightly and he continued. " But once we get to know each other a little, It's a possibility. It'll just take time. Actually, I thought he seemed a little nervous."

Mabel's eyebrow cocked in confusion. " What?"

Dipper nodded again, " Yeah. Remember when I studied body language that one year and I could tell what you were thinking? He was really good at hiding it, but I think he was nervous. Probably about having a pair of twins in his house."

Mabel shook her head. " That's not okay! He shouldn't be nervous. Grunkle Stan is awesome! I think he's awesome. Like a grumpy old man marshmallow."

Dipper snorted, " What?"

" Yeah! He seemed to be trying to act mean and grumpy, but I saw him sneak a new magazine for the girl at the register. Her face lit up when she saw it! She even looked around to see where it came from. I think I was the only one that noticed it was him! So, according to me, the all-knowing Mabel, he is a grumpy old man marshmallow."

Dipper shook his head in amazement. " You can see right through anybody, can't you?"

Mabel nodded and poked Dipper playfully, " And you can learn anything! Twinz?" She held her hand out in a fist bump. Dipper bumped it with a laugh,

"Twinz."

* Time skip again, because, yeah.*

* * *

Stan was cleaning up the shop, when he heard a gasp. He turned around to see Mabel glaring at him. He felt his insides squirm but kept a calm facade. " Hey, kid. What's up?"

Mabel pointed at his wings. Stan glanced at them. They were covered in dust. He had been using them as feather dusters, because why buy one when you had two perfectly good ones?  
Stan cocked an eyebrow, " What is it?"

Mabel looked like she wanted to scream, she managed to keep it to a shout. " ARE YOU USING YOUR PRETTY WINGS AS FEATHER DUSTERS?"

Stan chuckled, " Yes. Yes, I am. What's wrong with that? It's faster this way."

Mabel glared at him. " Um, everything is wrong with that! Ya know what? I'm done waiting! You're going to sit down and let me fix your wings whether you like it or not."

Now, Stan knew it was useless to argue, but he had known Mabel for an entire week at this point, and he knew that if he let her have her way, they would end up so bright and sparkly, he would blind anyone he met. So, he pointed out the obvious.

" Mabel, do you even know how to groom wings? That wouldn't help even if you did. My wings are kinda sensitive after living in my car for so long."

Mabel stared. Stan realized what he had just said. He felt his heart race as he tried to make a lie to cover up the one truth he had given. " Yeah, I drove across country and spent so long cramped in my car it sort of jacked them up." Mabel's face fell in relief slightly. She thought Grunkle Stan meant he had been living out of his car.

" I do know how to groom wings, Dipper taught me that one time we went to the zoo! And you can tell me if it hurts, right? Now c'mon!"

*Time skip of the actual grooming process because. Just because.*

Stan had to admit, it was nice getting those feathers he could never reach straightened up again, but he didn't think he would ever get all the glitter out.

* * *

 **I KNOW! THIS WAS AWFUL! I'M SORRY!**

 **Stan: What happened? Is it really that hard?**

 **Ford: Carmen did say she had trouble writing the kids.**

 **Stan: Still, this didn't seem like me at all!**

 **Me: I'M SORRY OKAY? I might be able to write Stan and Ford. I can write Mabel and Dipper, but both? Interacting with each other? I just can seem to keep them in character and I wasn't sure how to write out that scene where she actually fixed his wings and UGH!**

To: Crystalfreeze

I am so so so sorry, this was not what I wanted, but the words are conspiring against me. I hope you'll forgive me for this awful chapter.

 **Ford: You know what I do when something isn't working out for me? Blame it on Bill Cipher.**

 **Stan: That is so stupid, I LOVE it! This was all Bill Cipher's fault people. All on him!**


	12. Hurricane

**So, here we go! Another chapter for ya: No prompt. Just me rambling again.**

 **1952 Glass shard beach, New Jersey. Baby boys!**

* * *

The twins clung to each other as they slept, blissfully unaware of the storm raging round them.

Gigi had heard the warnings over the radio. Her husband was strangely unconcerned, but Ms. Pines would take no risks if said risk put her sons in jeopardy. After a strained, but quick argument, she convinced Filbrick to board up the windows. She listened to radio intently.

 _I have to say Jeff, I don't think I've witnessed such a large hurricane before. Certainly not with my own eyes!_

 _Agree to agree Sam. Our hearts go out to the people in Jersey, New York and everyone on the northern east coast._

 _Is it true the storm came out of no where, Jeff?_

 _It is indeed, Sam. Looks like someone forgot to burn the buffalo for our pal Poseidon before heading out, eh?_

Stanford started to squirm in the cradle, nearly waking his brother. Gigi made sure he was settled down again before turning the radio down, muttering under her breath that this was no time for jokes.

She had brought both her boys to the highest point in the house with the least windows. She had set up 'camp' in the middle of the room, finding she wished she had listened a little better when her parents taught her what to do in an emergency like this one.

Filbrick entered the room a moment later, soaking wet. " You were right, heck of a storm out there." He said before leaving again to change. No point in catching a cold, even if they do all drown.

Gigi sighed and pulled the boy's cradle closer, holding it tight. Now all there was left to do was wait.

* * *

 **AHHHHH! Protective Ma to the rescue! Hope you enjoyed! ;)**

 **Review if you want more winged Stan au. I have two other fics to try and update regularly, but I might manage all three with proper motivation!**

 **Stan: Ma wasn't like this at all.**

 **Ford: It's a fan-fiction, Stanley. It's not supposed to be like canon.**

 **Stan: Meh. *Leaves***

 **Ford: Sorry about him. *follows twin out of the room***


	13. 1: Silhouettes

**AAH** **! You can blame PrincessMialyn for the following story! Prompt: Poachers kidnap Ford and Stan has to save him. I watched sesame street writing this.**

* * *

 **1972, Gravity Falls.**

Ford had been taking a (mostly) leisurely walk in the forest surrounding the cabin he had built. He and Stan had moved to Gravity Falls in hopes of studying anomalies the town was rumored to harbor. They had just settled into the rather large house the other day and Ford hoped to familiarize himself with the surrounding territory as soon as possible.

Stan was grocery shopping to stock the house with as many supplies as they could manage to decrease the number of trips to town they would have to make. Ford had offered to go, but they both knew it was just an offer of politeness. Ford was awful with people and his mutation (not including the wings) made him all the more awkward. Stan was great at selling himself to a crowd. He never seemed to mind the endless questions and stares. Sometimes, he even seemed to enjoy all the attention.

Ford shook his head fondly. Stan was truly something.

He had been walking in the forest for a couple hours, sketching as he walked to make a map of the area, when he heard a snap. There was an abrupt stinging in his side and Ford's head whipped around fast enough to catch a glimpse of someone's silhouette before all faded to darkness.

* * *

 **Wow! That got dark fast. Trigger warnings for this story: Kidnap, mentions of/ attempted murder and or removal of limbs, Stan being awesome. Flying blueberries.**

 **Review if you want this to continue! ( Not sure if I was joking about the blueberries.)**

 **PrincessMialyn is the awesome human being responsible for this story. I will except prompts day noon or night. It just might be awhile before I can write it. I want this story to be multi-chaptered, hopefully with much longer chapters. :)**


	14. 2: INTRODUCING, the Villains!

**So, it continues! Here we go:**

* * *

" Are ya sure about this, Boss? I don't think this is...uh, legal?" A small man with a skinny face and a nervous countenance stuttered uneasily as the larger man bound and gagged the freak they had found walking in the woods.

The larger man grunted a laugh. " Your talkin' ta me about legality? Were poachers, plain 'n simple. This...thing, is an animal. There ain't no way it's human! And can you imagine how much them wings would go for on the Black Market?! We'll be rich!"

The smaller man slowly nodded. " I know, but this isn't no bear or nothin'. Maybe it ain't human, but it's humanoid! It was writing!" The man pointed to the notebook on the ground. It was something Ford had spent hours on, cutting and painting and sowing to make it perfect. The gold glinted off the cover and the larger man's eyes devoured it hungrily.

" Speakin' 'o which, why don't you bring tha' along with us? Could be worth somthin'."

The smaller man snatched it quickly as his 'boss' hoisted Ford onto his shoulder, the dead weight making him tilt slightly. He grunted. " Let's get outta here."

The boss set out towards their car as the other man ran ahead, preparing the trunk of the car for use. Ethical or no, they were gonna be filthy rich.

" Still think it's a bad idea."

" Shut up."

* * *

 **Wow. So another short chapter. I kinda like it though. It gets the point across and saves me hours of time. I never appreciated how truly time consuming writing was until I started posting on this website. Tell me, you like this? I think it's pretty good. The Stanley-centric chapters should be much longer. These two are just setting up the plot.**

 **Stan: Ah, lovely work Carmen. Say, is the small, nervous man going to help Ford out?**

 **Me: No. He is one of those 'I don't think this is a good idea, but I'm still gonna do it' sort of people. He might show him a bit of 'kindness' as in spare Ford's life, but they still wanna take his wings. It's like Maleficent over here.**


	15. 3: Realizations

**Here we go!**

* * *

Stan was walking up to the house with a large grin on his face. He had just left the store without paying for anything and none of them had even noticed! They were so busy asking him about his wings they didn't even seem to care he was walking out with what had to be more than a hundred dollars in groceries.

Excited to tell Ford about his success (even though Ford would probably berate him for it) Stan set down the bags he was carrying to open the door. It opened with a soft _click_.

" Ya home nerd?!" Stan yelled out into the darkness. None of the lights were on. _Probably in his nerd lab or somthin'._ Stan thought. He shrugged it off and brought in the supplies, putting them away into their respective cupboards. When he was finished, Stan left to go find Ford.

He got to the living room and pulled on the book Ford had designated as the lever to his lab. The bookshelf swung open silently. Stan shook his head. And his brother thought he was the eccentric one.

Stan's footsteps echoed in the room as he made his way down the very long staircase. _At least he's getting some exercise._ " Hey, Ford! Ya down here?!"

Nothing. The lights were off as he came to the bottom of the steps and his voice bounced off the currently empty walls. _Dang, Poindexter, where are you?_

Stan's heart was beating faster. He had only been here for a day, but they had already witnessed a giant tree monster practically eat the StanleyMobile. Stan had been so ticked he nearly killed himself to get it back in any sort of salvageable shape. _What if he's hurt? What if-what if-what if._ A thousand scenarios flashed through his mind as he ran back up the stairs, cursing how many there were.

Flinging the front door open, Stan pushed off hard from the ground and lifted off into the air, his heart refusing to slow it's racing beat. He didn't even take time to relish the feeling of flying again before flying off over the woods. Ford wouldn't have gone to town. He didn't enjoy the hustle and bustle anywhere. Not even such a small town where hustle and bustle were nearly non-existent.

The foliage of the trees made it nearly impossible to see if Ford was anywhere in the vicinity. Stan cursed again and turned back. He would have to find him the old-fashioned way.

...

When Stan found the tire tracks he nearly screamed. How on earth did Sixer manage to get himself kidnapped in such a small town?! Because there was no doubt in Stan's mind that Ford had been kidnapped. Why else would he have gone missing? Unless his footprints ended where the pair that wasn't Ford's started because of a coincidence? It was possible that Ford flew off when these two mystery men approached, but the lack of any deeper prints refuted that fact. Ford would have pushed against the ground, and that made for a deeper, more distinct footprint.

Stan blessed his lucky stars the forest's soil was so soft. He wasn't even an amateur tracker, but a toddler could follow these.

 _Should I push forward? They had a car. I'll never catch up this way._

Stan felt bad for even thinking it, but he might have to turn around. There was no telling how far they'd gone and Stan was wearing down. He hadn't eaten anything that morning, because he had to go shopping first, so he had been on the go all day with no nourishment. He wouldn't be any use to his twin if he couldn't even walk.

Stan sighed as he pushed off the ground, noting where he had found the tracks, and flew home.

He wanted to be at his strongest when he got his hands on Ford's kidnappers.

...

He made it home in record time. Running into the house, Stan grabbed a bag and started stuffing it with food, water, medical supplies and anything else he thought might be useful. (and if his knuckle-busters and a bat were two of those things, who would blame him?)

Wasting no time, Stan stuffed a granola bar in his mouth, tied the bag around his waist, (couldn't very well keep it on his back, could he?) and set off.

 _I'm comin' Ford. I'm comin'.  
_

* * *

 **Your welcome.**

 **The third chapter shall be soon. I think.**

 **Stan: So...**

 **Ford: So...**

 **Together: What is wrong with you?**

 **Me: Mwhahaha!**

 **Love ya marshmallows. Have a great day! ( Yes, you are marshmallows if you read this far. Welcome to the club.)**


	16. 4: Hope

**And here we are! I watched Dora writing this. Tw: Ford is so weird under stress.**

* * *

When Ford woke up, his first feeling was bewilderment. Why was it so cold? He remembered walking and then...nothing.

Ford's head snapped up and his eyes flung open. He gasped as he found himself in the exact opposite of a forest. The walls were made of bars and the ground beneath him was a solid grey metal. A cage.

How had he gotten there? Ford's brow furrowed as he tried to recall what had happened. He had been surveying the surrounding forest around their house. There had been a sharp pain...perphaps a projectile? It was obvious he'd been kidnapped. But who and why was beyond him. Stanley! Had they gotten to him too? Maybe not, maybe Stan was coming for him.

Ford knew he couldn't rely on that hope, however. First things first, he had to keep his cool. Taking a steadying breath, Ford stood up and inspected the inside of his prison. He found nothing, except for claw marks that made his spine tingle in fear. Who were these people?

Footsteps told him he was about to find out.

The door to the room that held his prison opened and Ford watched through the bars as a man walked in. Ford's first thought was 'holy Odin, that man is huge.'

And he was. At six feet and seven inches. Biceps the size of a pickup truck, the man was indeed, 'huge.'

Ford backed away as the man came closer.

" So, ya awake now, eh?" The man laughed at Ford's useless attempt to get away. " Name's Bearclaw. Got a name, Tweety?"

Ford, despite his horrid situation, snorted. " Bearclaw? What sort of name is that? And I am not a bird."

The ma-Bearclaw's face twisted into a sneer. " It's the name I got after I tore a Bear's claw right off its silly swipin' paw."

Ford shivered at the menace in Bearclaws rasping voice.

" Tha's right. Ya don' be sassin' me or me comrades or I'll be sure ta return ya to the forest six feet under, eh?" Bearclaw's hand reached through the bars, reaching for Ford's wings. Ford twitched away.

He tried to ignore his racing heartbeat and the nervous shaking he couldn't seem to stop once his fast-paced mind pieced it all together. These men were poachers.

And he was the animal.

Ford gulped, " That's a common misconception, how deeply most people are buried depends on man-"

" Shut it!" Bearclaw struck the side of the cage and the bars rattled ominously. " Now, ya gonna behave, or we gonna kill ya, understand?" Bearclaw's voice dropped an octave lower and Ford's jaw snapped shut.

 _Stanley, where are you?  
_

* * *

 **Your welcome! Don't kill me pls. I thought it was funny Ford spit facts when he was stressed, so that happened. Also, the villain sort of came to my mind with a very thick accent. Not sure what country it's from, but it suits him. Australian maybe? He wasn't really a very well put together character when he was introduced, but now I can see him very clearly and I loathe him with all my heart. He dressed like he's in the army and is super cliche.** _  
_

 **Stan: I'm comin' for ya Ford!**

 **Ford: I'm right here, ya knucklehead.**

 **Stan: Oh, right. *Sit's down, realizing he's still at home with his twin, and this is all just a story.***

 **Ford: *rolls eyes* Moron.**

 **Stan: Nerd.**

 **Love you guys! Thanks for reading and (please, please, please,) reviewing!**


	17. 5: Friends

**Here we go...**

* * *

Stanely was more than just irritated. He was furious. The pricks that took his brother had made it to the road and Stan wasn't sure where they'd gone. _How am I gonna find him now?_

Stan landed on the ground and sat on a nearby rock on the side of the road. He sighed, picked himself back up and started walking down the road. Following it forwards wouldn't help, it would just take him back to Gravity Falls. He kicked the concrete with a huff. Sure, he was heading in the right direction now, but what about when he finds himself at the first fork in the road? What then?

...

Stan had been walking for awhile. The only reason he hadn't started flying again was that his wings still ached from flying for so long. Sure, Stan and Ford flew often, but they walked more.

Shoving another granola bar in his mouth, Stan shook himself to wake up a bit and prepared himself to fly off again. He had already faced a decision before on whether to go left or right. Stan opted for the right since it leads to the more secluded towns. Even smaller than Gravity Falls. It was easier to hide from the authorities in the smaller towns. Stan would know.

He had just been about to lift off when the first car he'd seen since he started walking came cruising down the road. The headlights reflected brightly off Stan's spread wings and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. The car braked to a stop and Stan stared at it a little wide-eyed for a moment. He couldn't see inside the truck, but he knew he didn't have time for a million questions with some stranger.

Stan bent his legs and pushed off the ground. He was five feet in the air when he heard a call, "Stanferd?!"

Stan nearly fell out of the air. Thankfully, he managed to land with minimal damage to himself and his surroundings. _This man knows my brother?!_ _Maybe he can help me!_

* * *

Fiddleford had been on his way to Gravity Falls. His old college roommate had asked him if he was interested in conducting research their and he said yes. Now Stanferd was in the middle of the road in the dark?! What the Hades?!

Fidds jumped out of his truck and shouted as loud as he could. It was obvious Stanferd hadn't seen him. Just the truck. Stanferd landed shakily back onto the ground with a look of unmitigated shock on his face. So Fidds wasn't the only surprised one. Fidds had been about to say something when Stanferd walked straight up to him, grabbed him by his shoulders and spoke in a voice that was definitely not Stanferds, "You know my brother?"

The voice was deep and had a tinged of desperation and fear there that made Fidds shiver. _This isn't Stanferd! That must mean..._

" So yer Stanley Pines? Stanferd told me about ya! And why are ya in the middle of a road at night, Stanley?" Fidds said confidently. It had to be Stanley, because this man looked exactly like Stanferd, except he didn't. He didn't have a cleft chin, he held himself differently and his voice was a lot deeper.

Stanley nodded. " Yes, look, how do you know my brother?"

Fidds didn't move out of Stanley's grip on his shoulders. He wasn't sure he could anyway. " Well, he's my old college roommate! Say, couldja let go a me?"

Stanley didn't miss a beat, he let go and started gesturing widely, talking very fast. Fidds couldn't understand a word of it. " HOLD YER HORSES! I can't understand a word yer sayin'! Now, again, but slowly."

Taking a deep breath, Stanley spoke in deliberately slow words. " Ford. Has. Been. Kidnapped."

Fiddlefords mind stopped working. Then it was in overdrive. His face was grim as he started his assault of questions. " Who, what, when, where?! Tell me everythin'." Fidds saw the look on Stanley's face and he added, " Get in the car, we can talk while I drive. Just tell me where ta go."

...

Fiddleford was in shock. After the initial explanation, Fidds suggested they go to the police, but Stanley shook his head.

" I don't trust 'em. Especially not small town cops."

Fidds wondered why but didn't ask.

* * *

Stanley's wings twitched as a memory of an aggressive jailer came to surface. They never seemed to believe it when he cried out in pain as they plucked his feathers. Stanley hadn't really gotten a chance to know the GFPD officers, but he didn't want to take the chance. At least the poachers knew they were real. Knew they were inflicting pain. Strangely, that thought wasn't really comforting.

Well, either way. Stan was filled with something other than rage.

Hope.

He was with the only other person who cared about his brother. _We're comin'._

* * *

 **Stan is gonna find him in the next chapter, promise. Sorry, this is so late in coming. I don't have an excuse, this isn't even a great chapter. I just got really lazy.**

 **Stan: Meh.**

 **Ford: You really are being lazy. All you can say is 'meh?'**

 **Stan: Meh.**

 **Ford: Well, I give up. Feel free to review!**


	18. 6: Rescued

**Want some awesome Stanley Pines and Fiddleford? Here ya go: Trigger warnings for allusions to violence and torture. Very light on the torture.  
**

* * *

It was always the last place you looked.

Fiddleford and Stan got to know each other fairly well as they took turns driving above the speed limit.

Stan learned that this was the friend Ford was always talking about and Fiddleford realized he knew very little about Ford's brother. Ford wasn't very talkative.

By the time they landed in the town they had been searching for (They had visited the other towns in the area and got some clues as to where to go. Fidds learned that Stan was also very comfortable in a bar full of probably criminals and bikers.) Fiddleford and Stanley were both on their way to being close friends. Nearly dying and disposing of certain things with that person was a pretty great way to get to know a guy.

Stanley was at the wheel. He pulled into the first parking lot he saw and cut off the engine. " This is the town." He turned to Fiddleford, who looked a little worse for wear. Stan felt extremely grateful for the scrappy guy, and maybe a bit of guilt for pulling him into this.

" You don't have to come with me, Fidds. I can't promise to stay legal out there. I don't plan on leavin' any of those kidnappers alive."

Fidds shivered. He knew that Stanley was definitely capable enough, but he couldn't back out now. Stanford was his friend too. " Don' worry Stanley. I ain't leavin' ya. Not now."

Stan smiled grimly and they both climbed out of the truck. Stan grabbed the backpack he'd rigged around his waist and placed it on the ground. He already had his knuckle busters on and Fidds had the bat, so he only grabbed a water for each of them before placing it back in the truck and told Fiddleford his plan.

" This town is pretty small, so I'm thinkin' it'll be pretty easy ta find what we're lookin' for. It's probably on the outskirts of the town, so here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna fly over the perimeter and if I find somethin' I'll come back for ya. I would just fly with ya down there but we're gonna want the truck if Ford can't...if he's injured."

Fidds nodded and climbed back into the car, behind the wheel. " I'll be ready fer ya, Stanley."

Stan felt a deep something stir within him and he smiled. He nodded and flew off, wasting no more time. _I'm comin' Poindexter!_

 _..._

Ford was in a lot of pain. Being hungry on top of that was just unfortunate.

After Ford woke up originally, he thought maybe they would cut off his wings and kill him. No witnesses. It made sense, but instead, they left him alive.

Once, Ford had heard arguing outside of the door beyond his cage and thought maybe he'd heard the words 'morals' and 'unnecessary.'. He hoped this meant they thought killing him was unnecessary and not that morals were irrelevant.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been caged up. He did know that his kidnappers were waiting for a 'buyer' to come by to examine the 'merchandise.' They really weren't quiet speakers.

Ford was currently on the floor, trying to ignore the aching his bruises gave him and the recently developed pang in his stomach. They hadn't fed him at all and he was thought maybe it had to be at least two days since his last proper meal. He wasn't starving exactly. Not the 'bone thin, oh my gosh how are you still alive' starving at least. But it was still painful. Like his stomach was punishing him. His throat was dry and achy from lack of water and the coughing it produced. Ford could practically feel himself degrading.

 _Fascinating how one starts deteriorating so quickly after only a day without nourishment._ _I must do a study on that if I survive._

The thought brought about an entirely different pain. Ford had tried, unsuccessfully, to escape his prison and he had begun to cling to the hope that maybe someone would rescue him.

 _Is this how damsels in distress feel like? I'm like princess unattainable now._ Ford laughed at the errant thought. Stan would probably tease him for it.

 _Stanley, I'm sorry._

...

Stan found what he was looking for quickly. It was a large warehouse, poorly camouflaged on the edge of the wooded town. Stan felt a jolt of adrenaline as his hope rekindled and he blessed the wind that sped him faster back to where Fiddleford was parked.

He landed with a thump on the passenger side and he climbed into the truck, barely able to keep from shouting. Stan knew, logically, that there were a million places Ford could be, but his gut was telling him they had it right this time.

He directed Fiddleford to the warehouse and they climbed out of the truck quietly. The moon was obscured above and they snuck up to the doors without incident. They could see a light emanating from one of the second story windows.

The idea was to sneak in and sneak out without alerting any of the kidnappers to their presence. Stanley was hoping for a fight, but not if it meant putting Ford in any more danger than necessary.

gesturing for Fidds to wait, Stan lifted off as noiselessly as he could and peered into the building. Stan felt his blood begin to boil at what he saw.

Two men were sitting at a table, playing poker. One looked like an ex-Marine and the other looked like those skinny rats you could worm information from in a shady bar. Stan would know, he'd 'conversed' with someone just like that the hours before.

The thing that really riled Stan up was the large glass window, probably a one-sided glass wall. Looking in he could see his twin, looking like a fallen owl on the bottom of a cage of metal.

Stan growled and nearly broke through the window with his fist, except he didn't want to alert them to his presence. Gliding back down, Stan nodded to Fiddleford, who grimaced in determination.

The door was locked, but that was no problem for Stan, and they were in. Fidds stayed by the door. He was going to stay close to the car in case he needed to help them make a quick getaway. Stan had said 'in case _you_ need to make a quick getaway.' but Fidds wasn't going to leave either of the twins behind. (Which was brave, even though he hadn't seen the size of the man Stan had seen.)

Stanley wasted no time. The room was dark and he flicked the lights on after searching for the switch. He winced at the buzzing the lights made but didn't think anybody had noticed.

The warehouse was barren, besides a few broken boxes. Obviously, they wanted people to think it was abandoned. Stan's searching gaze found the wide staircase that leads to the second level. He made towards it quickly, itching to get to his brother and leave this place.

Stan made it to the second level and found a hallway of doors. He wondered at the lack of security this place was. It obviously wasn't a large organization that had kidnapped Ford. The two he'd seen must have been the only culprits. Probably rookies lookin' for a quick buck on the black market. (Even Stan was scared of how much he knew about these things.)

He tried to recall where the window had been located and found a few doors that he thought might lead to the room with his brother. He crouched low, fist at the ready, and tried the knob. It turned and he heard an audible _click._

 _Crap._

 _..._

Bearclaw and George (yes, his name is George, deal with it.) were playing poker. They were planning on there 'buyer' coming in the next day and they weren't going to leave there cargo unguarded. Especially since George managed to convince Bearclaw that dismemberment was messy and inconvenient and it was better to just sell the man/ creature as a whole and let the buyer do what they wanted with it. Bearclaw accused him of being swayed by something called 'morals'. George knew what morals were. He wasn't sure Bearclaw did. He defended himself and said that cutting up the thing they'd captured (they refused to think of it as a human) was unnecessary.

When they heard the click of the door, they froze. Eyes turned to the now open door that revealed...

George screamed. He was a very suspicious man, and as far as he was concerned, this was a punishment sent from heaven.

It was the thing they'd captured, except it _wasn't_. It was scarier looking and its knuckles glinted gold. George sprinted for the only other door in the room, the one leading to Ford's cage. The creature growled and he stopped.

It spoke: " Alright pipsqueak. Beefy. Give me my brother and I might let you live."

Bearclaw spoke this creatures language. He cracked his knuckles and neck and ignored it when George ran behind him. He looked the newcomer straight in the eyes.

" No. In fact, I think we might be making even more money than originally counted on." He sneered.

The wings on the man's back spread out wide, almost like how an animal makes itself look larger. Bearclaw was unimpressed. He was used to displays like that. But that's all they were- displays.

" Wrong choice, beefy."

...

Ford looked up as he heard the door swing open. He'd been hearing strange sounds from the outside of his room for the last fifteen minutes. He gasped at the sight that met him.

" Stanley?"

Stanley nodded. His face was bloody and bruised and he was only missing a couple feathers ( Bearclaw wanted to keep his merchandise in good shape.) Stan's knuckles were bloodier than his face and his arms hung limply at his sides.

Ford was in shock. He pressed himself against the bars as if he could melt through them to get to his brother. " Stanley! How did you find me? What happened to you?! Please don't tell me you fought the monster truck." Ford felt a pang of fear, just thinking about Bearclaw. The man was huge.

Stanley grinned as he pulled out a key. " Yep. The man had a lot of muscles, but no talent. Kickboxing was useful after all!"

Ford rolled his eyes, Stan was the same as ever. " Wait...so what happened Stanley?"

Stan unlocked the door and Ford fell gratefully into the arms of his twin. Stan, in a rare moment of affection, held him for a moment, before laughing. " Nothin' ya need to worry about, Sixer. He's gone now."

Ford knew Stan felt things really deeply, despite how he acted most of the time. He had a feeling he knew what happened, but didn't ask again.

" Thank you, Stanley."

" Hehe, you're welcome."

* * *

Ford and Stan carried each other back down the stairs. They both counted themselves lucky that they were leaving with their lives, much less with so little injury. Ford gasped when he saw a scratched and scruffed up Fiddleford waiting for them.

Fiddlefored ran up to the both of them and started fussing. Ford didn't hear a word of it.

" Fiddleford, what are you doing here?!" Ford exclaimed, he looked at Stan, who looked a little guilty, but mostly seemed proud.

" Hehe, Yeah Sixer. That's a long story. You've got one heck of a nerd friend though. I wouldn't a been able ta find ya if it weren't for 'im"

Fiddleford nodded and grinned as he led the both of them to the car. " So I guess we're all acquainted with each other then?" Ford asked.

Stan and Fidds laughed. " Sure Ford. Sure."

Needless to say. There was much laughter that night.

And showers. And food. And stupid soap operas and...you know what? You get the gist. Happily ever after, ect. Your welcome.

* * *

 **So, didja like it?! I thought it was good. Ya gotta wonder what Fidds and Stan did when they were workin' together tho...and what Stan did to Bearclaw the beefy and George the pipsqueak.**

 **Stan: I liked it.**

 **Ford: It was satisfactory.**

 **Me: How dare you. It was beautiful.**

 **Please review!**


	19. Confused

**It's been a while since I've updated this, so here I am! No prompt, unfortunately. Just me rambling again. Please enjoy. Also, I looked it up. Remote controls did exist in 1976 so...don't tell me otherwise. The start isn't very good, but it get's better. Tw: Kidnap, Stanley Pines, Because he needs his own trigger warning, allusions to death. Child abuse.  
**

 **Summary, because this might be a bit confusing:*spoilers* Stan was flying for money with his wings and eventually people wanted to kidnap him to make him some sort of pet or something and this kidnap attempt was caught on camera and Ford's been searching for him for years because the perpetual thingy never broke, but the board member people were jerks and so is the Stan twins father and Stan still got kicked out and now Ford's finally found him because he was on tv because of the kidnapping attempt! *Panting* Wooh. Please enjoy. {did that make any sense...?}**

* * *

 **1976, Boise Idaho.**

His feathered wings stretched out on either side of him. Whipping out a ruler, the man was measured to have a wingspan of seven meters. The crowd oohed and awed.

Stan grinned victoriously. Bending his knees he looked up into the bright blue sky and prepared to take off.

He shot skyward, the people below him cheered him on. He could hear the clatter and clang of money being tossed into his rather large collection tin. He went through the motions. A couple loops, fly low to the ground to slap a few hands before soaring upward once more.

When the show was finished, the crowd lingered to admire his white wings. He answered a few of their questions and the crowd dispersed, their attention drawn on to other, although less elaborate, attractions there at the Fair.

First time Stan performed, he didn't even want to do it. He was living off whatever he could hide away in his wings when he was 'shopping' when a man approached him. Told him that he had an empty slot at his circus after his only lion trainer became...unavailable. The man asked him about his wings, if they were real and if he could put on a show. When Stan looked uncertain, he mentioned a paycheck and the deal was done. Stan put on an unbelievable one-night performance and got about a thousand dollars as payment. Stan was a bit surprised by how much he received and the man (Tony) explained that he paid extra when the show was a hit with the viewers. Stan thanked him and left.

He never saw Tony again, but it did give him a few ideas.

For a while he was performing regularly, going from show to show, or just flying in the streets, as he was now. He was offered permanent places with many different circuses and theaters, but he declined them all. Stan Pines didn't know much, but he did know this. Never sign a contract with anyone if the thing your selling is yourself. So, he was, as his mother used to describe him, a free spirit. Flying from state to state, wowing everyone he met. He even made enough money to afford a motel every once in a while.

Life was looking up. That is until _they_ came.

Stan had been in a motel, which was a rare occurrence. He still felt safer within the StanleyMobile, but his wings didn't enjoy being cramped inside the small vehicle and needed a break. The door had a deadbolt, which gave him some peace of mind. He checked every window and made sure his trusty bat was beside him before falling asleep. He woke up safe and sound.

It was after he left that he got attacked.

Men in everyday suits, hoodies, and jackets began to circle him, closing him off from everyone else. Stanley noticed almost immediately and began to change course, turning down a random street. They followed him all the way to a dead end.

Too late, he realized he was being corralled. The men brought out rope and bags, intent clearly written on their faces. Stan felt his heart pick up as he forced himself as hard as he could into the air. He didn't get very high, definitely not high enough to soar over the wall that kept him in, when he felt his foot being dragged backward.

One of the men must have worked with cattle because Stan had to commend him on his roping skills. The rope chaffed against his ankle and he quickly pushed his shoe off, in an attempt to slide the rope off his foot. The rope stuck tight and he continuously struggled with it, trying to fly higher, away from the crowd of men (and one woman, what the heck?) as they awaited him with greedy looks.

More ropes began flying into the air. All of them missed, even as he was pulled lower and lower towards the ground. Stan, still beating his wings furiously, reached into the pocket of his jeans. He was making a little headway, gaining about an inch with every five he lost. He brought his hand out and bent over his ankle.

The men on the ground watched on in anger at what they were seeing. Stan had brought out a pocket knife and was cutting madly into the rope on his ankle. The men (and woman) screeched in rage when none of the ropes made in around their target and the only rope they did have on him broke loose. Stan wasted no time, shooting straight towards the clouds.

He laughed in victory as he soared away from their cruel, angry countenances. Once the adrenaline wore off and he made it back to his car in one piece, he started to think. Obviously, the publicity he was gaining was giving people some less than honorable ideas. I mean, just because he could fly, didn't make him an animal to be captured and trained.

So Stan thought and he thought.

He came to the conclusion that this would always be an issue. There would always be freaks out there that thought they could use him (and Ford...Ford? How was Ford, was he...? No. It's fine. It was always fine.) for their own purposes. But he did go on the down low every once in a while, keeping his head to the ground. He would reappear occasionally. But never for very long, just like he used to before he started in the show business. He started working those _other_ jobs again and continued on. Surviving day by day.

Until the phone call.

...

Stanford Pines was a...strange man. His insecurities about his own abnormalities made him socially inept and he often kept to himself. The only person he ever truly relaxed around was Fiddleford Mcgucket, who had been his best friend these last six years.

Stanford was considered a workaholic, and would often be seen studying from his window late into the night. Only Fiddleford knew what he was really up to most of the time.

Sure, he studied, vigorously in fact. But the time-consuming project that required so many documents and phone calls wasn't for school.

He was searching.

Searching for a twin brother he hadn't seen in seven years.

Ford regretted the night his twin was kicked out more than anything in his entire life. Emotions had been high, the school had taken one glance at him and mark him off the list. Stanley had been right beside him when it happened. The board members surveying his perpetual motion machine had mistaken their 'deformities' as the project, ignoring Ford's machine he had spent so much time on. One of them moved to touch one of Ford's wings and Stan stood in front of him protectively. He told them off for their assumption.

Ford knew Stan had been in the right. He was grateful.

That's when things got physical. The board members were insulted, prideful in every sense of the word and insisted they were in the right. Stan wouldn't take it and they left with many a cut and bruise.

When they related what had happened that night to their Father, however, Filbrick didn't see things the same way. He saw that his brash and insolent son had lashed out on the board members, effectively ruining Ford's chance to make millions. He had thrown him out that night, holding Ford back when he struggled to reach Stanley.

Ford lost his twin that night after Fiblrick told him to scram or say goodbye to his wings. _Could make me a buck or two, those hideous things on his back. S'not like he needs 'em._

Ford shuddered to think the only reason their father hadn't torn off his wings already was that he was capable of making money in less violent, illegal ways.

Stan wasn't. Not in Filbrick's mind.

So Stan was gone, and he had spent the last seven years trying to get him back.

Ford had to wonder what was going through his twin's mind. Stanley didn't see how Ford was held forcefully back. How his mouth was covered by a large, callous hand.

He must have thought that Ford was angry at him. To stay away for so long.

Ford's head slumped on the desk. Hitting it with a loud _thump._ He relished in the throbbing pain coursing through his head. He had been searching through phone books, he had gotten so desperate. It was like Stanley fell off the face of the earth. The pain distracted him from his failure.

Fiddleford looked over at him, concern written over his face. "Stanferd? Ya alrigh' over there?"

"No. This is hopeless."

"Aw, now don't say tha'." Fiddleford got up from the couch and pulled on his arm until Ford stood up and followed him to the couch. "Ya just need a break. Ya know yer brain doesn't work as smoothly if ya don't give it a rest once in a while."

Ford huffed as he sat and ran his fingers through his hair, the stress was really getting to him. Fidds grabbed the remote and turned on the tv to some random channel. "Now ya just wait here and I'll whip up somethin' ta get ya fueled up again. No one can live on coffee, ya know. I've tried."

Fidds left to the tiny kitchen they had and Ford stared at the tv, not really watching. He stared at it uncomprehendingly until something made his gaze stick fast.

 _A man with wings-_

 _Nearly captured-_

 _Side street show artist-_

 _Raw footage-_

The reporter was talking so fast, Ford could barely understand her. He didn't care.

Stanley was flying in the air, fighting against a rope that had attached itself to his ankle. The quality of the video was low, probably caught by a street security camera. Ford felt his heart nearly burst out of his chest as he quietly rooted for Stan, begging that he was alright. He sighed in relief when the rope fell away and Stan flew off.

 _Last seen in Wyoming-_

Ford jumped up and called for Fiddleford. He had work to do.

* * *

Stan was in another motel. It had been several months since the kidnappers first attempt to get him. Stan was tempted to call them poachers, they way they acted with him. Calling to him as if he were a dumb animal.

Stan might be dumb, but he wasn't a mindless beast.

He groaned as he got up, unwilling to start his day. He felt the same way each and every morning. As if the world was pressing against his shoulders, making everything all the way down to the tips of his white, wind-washed wings, ache.

Rolling off the bed, he fell to the floor with a _thump._ He stood slowly, still trying to wake up.

Usually, he'd be out of there faster than a speeding ticket, but he really wasn't feeling it that morning. Not only was the mental pressure there, that gave the illusion of holding the world on his back, there was a very real ache there as well. Boxing really wasn't the best profession with his disadvantages. {His wings were a bloody mess and bruises littered up and down his entire body, cuts bled from his knuckles along with the chanting of 'freak' ringing in his ears. Don't tell him I told you though.}

Yeah...he was taking it easy that day.

He took his time in the shower, trying his best to ignore the throbbing pain from...everywhere. {getting beaten down by a bunch of drunk men really wasn't good for your health} Afterwards he sorted through his backpack and pulled out a couple granola bars he'd stashed away. He ate sparse breakfast, did a poor imitation of a proper workout, then laid back down in bed.

He sighed. Let his muscles relax, and his eyes slide shut. (His bat beside him all the while.)

 _Ring, Ring, Ring. I'm a phone and I ring exactly when I don't want you to._ Stan mocked. He mumbled murder under his breath to whoever woke him up and went to answer the motel line.

Wait. Someone was calling his room that he rented for a night? Why? To gently kick him out? {without having to look at the freak of a man...?} He answered with apprehension, giving the person on the other end a gruff, "What?"

...

"Stanley?" Ford's voice nearly cracked, he was so...emotional. {He wasn't sure what the emotion he was feeling was called...it felt like many emotions that were stirred together in a witch's cauldron and dumped into his sleep-deprived body.}

He ignored the tears threatening to boil over when the man on the other end didn't answer. He had been sure he had got it right that time.

He had spent days tracing his brother's footsteps. He managed to locate him at a motel in Wyoming, the Red Roof Inn. He had been so excited, he was sure he had it right. Stanley was there. He had to be.

His voice was a sob, "Ley?" Ford could barely choke out the old nickname.

He knew it. He was a failure-he couldn't do this-Stan was lost, or dead or-

" _Sixer?"_

 _..._

"Stanley?" The man on the other end of the line asked. His voice sounded tense and it put Stan on edge. He was a bit in shock actually, he hadn't been called Stanley in a long time. He wanted to ask this man how he knew that name, who he was, why he was calling, when-

"Ley?"

Stan's mind stopped in its tracks. The voice went from tense to a sobbing sound. The old nickname brought back memories that had him blurting out-

" _Sixer_?"

"STANLEY!" The voi-Ford nearly screamed. No, he definitely screamed. Stan didn't move the phone from his head. He was to busy trying to keep back his own tears. He couldn't believe it.

" _Is that really you Ford_?" Stan mumbled out, a little punch drunk from the shock.

Ford sounded equally stunned on the other end, "Yeah. I-I've been looking for you for YEARS! Where have you been, you knucklehead?!" Stan heard his words with more than just a little bit of regret.

Stan curled up in his wings, "I uh-don't really have an answer to that." a loud, almost hysterical laughter could be heard on the other end. Stan cringed. Ford shouldn't ever sound so off the hinge.

"S-Stanley." Ford began after he'd stopped laughing long enough to speak. "Don't go any-anywhere until I there. Are you alright? I saw that thing on the news..."

Stan nodded until he realized Ford couldn't see him, " _I'm alright. Don't worry about me Sixer. How did you find me?_ " Stan was so confused right now, he wasn't sure it wasn't some fevered dream.

"I already told you. Don't, don't go anywhere, you hear me? Stay put." Ford's voice became demanding and Stan nodded. Then he mentally slapped himself and answered properly-

" _Okay. I promise Poindexter, but how-_?" The phone disconnected and Stanley sighed. Suddenly everything was spinning. How was this possible, how did he know this wasn't a trick of some sort and the person coming for him was one of his old...pals?

 _Guess I just have to wait and see...and sleep. That too._

Suffice to say, Stanley didn't sleep.

...

Ford was freaking out, enough that his hand shook and accidentally made the landline clatter to the floor. "Shoot." Ford cursed. He picked it up and settled it back on the small table. He was about to redial when he decided against it. He got the point across.

 _Don't move, I'm coming._

-Time Skip-

Ford was right outside the door. Number 216. Ford waited about a mili-second before banging on the door, letting the pounding of his fist release some of his pent-up nervousness. He was about to call out when he heard a groan from within. The door swung open a moment later.

"Stanley?"

Okay, panic mode now.

Stan looked _horrible_. Ford wouldn't believe it was him if it weren't for the large wings curled around him like a blanket. He saw Stanley blink before gaping. Ford's heart stopped as he considered the damage.

Stan's face was scruffed up, but that was normal. What wasn't normal was the large blue and purple bruises, or the bandages all over his feet where Ford recalled the rope being. _Shouldn't that be healed already?_

Despite this, Ford felt a peace he hadn't felt in a long while. This was _Stan._ Stan was alive! Ford shifted from panic to pure joy and launched himself into his brother's arms. Stan seemed to be without words, which was uncharacteristic, but not unlikely. He stumbled backward as he tried to hold both their weights and hissed.

"Sixer? It's nice ta see ya, but could ya lay off for a second?"

 _oh._ Ford quickly jumped back and watched as Stanley righted himself. He examined his brother a little more closely. It seemed to him that Stan had been sleeping. The bed was ruffled and Stan was wearing anything other than boxers and an old white t-shirt. Stan sat down on the edge of the bed and Ford moved in behind him to examine his wings. Stan didn't move, nor did he say anything when Ford mindlessly began to straighten his feathers.

His wings now reminded him of when they were thirteen. Stan had gotten them torn up by a bunch of bullies and didn't tell Ford after the fact. His wings looked the same now as they did then. Ford's heart was tearing itself apart and he didn't care that everything seemed to be escalating quickly or that Stan hadn't said anything. He was so happy and mad and sad and none of those emotions really worked together, especially when you're a nerd not often ran by emotion.

"You promised."

* * *

Stanley was so...mind-bogglingly confused.

A furious knocking on his door was what had woken him up.

It had been several days since the strange phone call, and still, Stanley refused to leave. He paid the lady at the front desk extra and they left him alone for the most part. The minority part of this was housekeeping. They knocked viciously on the door and only left after he answered. Stan groaned and got up again, no real doubt as to who was at the door. It was definitely someone waiting to yell at him. Just not the someone he wanted.

Stan was in his boxers and nothing else, he slipped on a shirt before answering the door. He didn't care if it was dirty. He hadn't cared for a long time. He shuffled to the door, favoring his busted ankle that had snapped during his 'boxing' match. {He tried to fix it up the best he could, he didn't have the money for a quack doctor, and honestly, it wasn't that painful after four ibuprofen.}

He reached out to the doorknob and swung open the door, hoping to traumatize whatever rude maid was on the other side with all his glory that was his beautiful (Busted) face.

Stan's heart stopped. Ford was staring at him with large, scrutinizing eyes.

"Stanley?" {and that voice was so welcome to Stan's distressed emotions, but it sounded so _broken, beaten, ANgRy-_ }

Stan watched as Ford's eyes went from large to downright terrified. He thought maybe Ford was going to run in the other direction, not shoot straight at him.

The world liked to surprise him like that.

He mentally screamed. The pain was agonizing, every muscle punishing him as he tried to support both their weight. He managed to break free of the shocked silence Ford's appearance had put him in.

"Sixer? It's nice ta see ya, but could ya lay off for a second?" Stan grunted, his voice sounding hoarse. He tried to be nice but needed Ford OFF because that really hurt. _And now you sound like a mewling infant, good job me._ Stan thought as he sat down. He didn't notice when Ford moved behind him. He did notice when he spoke, the words cutting him free of the haze he had been in.

"You promised."

Oh no. Alarms triggered inside of Stan's mind because Ford sound _hurt._ He realized what that reminded him off and scoffed.

"That doesn't apply anymore, Ford."

Stan was so, so confused. Wasn't Ford angry? Wasn't he here to yell at him? Stan wasn't even sure what he might have done wrong, but Ford wasn't there for him when their Father tossed Stan out of the street. Stan assumed...

He assumed. Oh nononononononono! _Never assume. It can get you killed._

 _Or alienate you from your brother for seven years._

Ford's voice once again brought him back to reality. "No, you told me you would never hide your injuries from me. You promised. I don't see how that's changed."

"I was gone, not hiding from you."

"oh really? Then what do you call completely disappearing for seven years because I-" Ford froze. He couldn't speak anymore and Stan became aware of the strange feeling on his back.

Ford was fixing his feathers.

It really was middle school all over again.

Stan snorted. "I think we have a lot to catch up on. Just to clarify, you weren't angry with me? The night dad..."

"No. I was grateful. Until you left. For SEVEN years."

"Why do you keep emphasizing that?"

"Because it bothers me! Aren't you happy I'm here? Are you mad at me? Is that why you stayed away? I'm sorry Stanley, I really am, but Father held me back! I couldn't do anything..."

Stan started suddenly and turned around to face his twin, shock becoming a permanent feature of his face, "No! I thought you were angry with me! It never occurred to me- I mean, we were both so young- and I was so confused and tired and I didn't think-"

"You didn't think."

Stan stopped. He wanted to hide. Ford sounded mad. Stan wasn't usually the hider type. He made himself larger, scared off the other opponent.

But he couldn't scare off family. He couldn't hurt them just to defend himself because you didn't hurt family, you protected them. Stan stilled and his eyes dropped to the floor when Ford continued.

"You didn't think I would want to help you? Didn't you think that Dad might have threatened me to keep quiet? To stay low? You didn't think...? Stanley!" Stan shrunk back, even more, when Ford began to gesture wildly.

 _Curl in, wait it out. It will be alright._

Stan's mind wasn't in the room just then. It was in a much darker place, one with belts and angry shouts. Fake smiles and broken laughter.

Stan never truly kept his promise. Not really. {you can mean something and still not act on it, and it can hurt, but if it kept the other happy...it was worth it. Becuase Stan wasn't. Stan was never worth it. Not anything...}

A pressure, a flinch.

"Ley?"

* * *

Ford quieted down when he heard a whimper. He blinked and gaped. He hadn't realized when he had started yelling. All he knew was that he was...exasperated. Seven long years and all Stan had to say was 'I didn't think?'. Ford was a little...overwhelmed. He looked down at his brother, who had fallen to the floor and was hiding out his wings. They were large enough to cover his entire body.

 _What? What's going on...?_

"Stanley? Are you alright, what happened?" Ford placed a well-meaning hand on the edge of his left wing and Stan flinched back. Ford froze, but his mind whirred, filtering through as many possibilities as possible while still completely confused.

"Ley?"

Stan lifted his head out of the cocoon he had made himself into and blinked confusedly. His mind snapped back to the present and he relaxed. Ford watched on, bewildered. "Stanley? Can you please say something? I'm sorry for yelling... I've really missed you and I have been living off coffee and I...lost control. I'm sorry."

That's when it finally hit him.

Ford was here.

He was happy to see him.

He had his twin back.

Strange flashback already forgotten, Stanley held out his arm, and Ford helped him up. Stan balanced on his good foot before falling right into Ford's arms. Stan laughed and tightened his arms around him. Ford was gentler this time, more aware of his wounds, but reciprocated.

"It's really you," Stan whispered.

Ford chuckled. "I could have told you that. In fact, I think I did."

"I missed ya, you Nerd."

"I missed you too, you knucklehead."

* * *

 **? I don't know.**

 **Stan: Me neither. That was so random and ...weird.**

 **Ford: Is there going to be more of this? I think they deserve some proper fluff, after what you've been delivering.**

 **Me: Yeah, yeah, alright.**

 **Please review. Sorry for being gone for so long. I worked like three days on this and it's still really bad. Sorry about that too. I hope I got my points across.**


	20. Rewind

**You know that feeling when the author of your favorite fic actually replies to you after you tell them off for not finishing the story months ago when you first read it? That is me right now. Red pine tree on ao3 replied to my ridiculous comment after I begged them to finish the series. They did and now I am overloaded with joy!  
**

* * *

 **1967, New Jersey. (Sixteen years old.)**

Ford was sitting on the couch peaceably, when-

"No! No, it can't be!" Ford groaned.

The tape ended and the machine spat it out with a shudder. Ford fell back on the couch, despairing.

It had been a good run.

Ford first found the Star Trek series a year before and went absolutely nuts over it. He found it all very fascinating. Although, he thought maybe Captain Kirk could do with less flirting and more exploring the galaxy.

He knew it was all rubbish, fiction to satisfy the needs of dreamers. But he was enthralled with it nonetheless. He found the potentialities inspiring, the impossibility of it all helping him push forward in his own work, which was long believed futile.

He would make his perpetual motion machine work. He would.

Now, Ford was lamenting the ending of his beloved show. It had only been three seasons in, but Ford knew that it wasn't a very successful broadcast, and had been expecting this for a while.

Didn't make it any less painful.

He was too busy mourning to notice when Stan walked in. Stan took one look at the static screen and the 'pure agony' on Ford's face and made the connection.

He never really cared for the nerd show, but Ford seemed really teared up by it.

Placing a well-meaning hand on Ford's shoulder, Stan hopped over the couch and settled by his twin. Ford curled inwards automatically and Stan brought his wings around them both like a blanket. He chuckled,

"Your nerd show finally end?" Stan mused. Ford moaned again,

"It ended so...not well. I am finding it difficult to accept."

Stan huffed his amusement again and his mischevious smile made itself known. His eyes glinted knowingly, "Wanna watch it from the beginning with me? You can tell me about all the nerd junk I can't understand."

Ford rolled his eyes but jumped up enthusiastically. Sure, rewatching on his own would be pointless, but with Stan...

Well, he supposed he could take some time to educate his brother on the wonders of the Star Trek universe.

Stan settled in, ready to be bored out of his mind. As long as Poindexter enjoyed himself, Stan could sit through hours of low quality, black and white footage. (Not that he knew that it was low quality, because I am assuming it was acceptable for 1967.)

Ford didn't squeal, but for Ford, he might as well have. Stan snorted when Ford began babbling on and on about all the 'possibilities', whatever that meant.

He was happy, so Stan was too.

* * *

 **This is what happens when you don't give me prompts and I use my own life experiences to write.**

 **Stan: Well, that was excessively fluffy.**

 **Ford: Must I really be the fanboy?**

 **Me: Dipper is your fanboy.**

 **Stan: There is no arguing with that. My ears are still ringing...**

 **Ford *blushing*: I hardly think that counts, he was more excited about the journals than me anyway...**

 **Me: Yeah right! Dipper practically worshipped you until you showed your true nerdy colors. That's when you became 'Grunkle Ford', instead of the author. SO it runs on the nerdy side of the family. That's my headcanon, (Is that a headcanon?) anyway.**


	21. 1: Haunting of every kind

**No prompts? Anyone? *sigh* Here ya go, more of me rambling: Tw: Death, don't be mad at me, this is super angsty...Suicide attempt.  
**

* * *

 **1976, Gravity Falls.**

Stanley sighed. Ever since losing his brother, he felt...empty.

His other half was gone. Dead. Forever.

And it was his fault.

Stanley was supposed to be there for Ford, always, and instead, he was in another freaking COUNTRY getting arrested for something he DIDN'T DO.

Stan turned around, using his entire body to knock his fist into the wall. He felt his knuckles burn and scratch. He didn't care. Everything seemed so...disconnected. Like he was just watching it from a window, and not experiencing it for himself. Yet, he would still find himself crying bitterly, or lashing out in anger every once in a while because it was all _too much_. Stan had paid for his mistakes, hadn't he? With ten years of starvation and cold winters, blistering hot summers without a roof over his head. With a criminal record, why did the universe had to take this away from him too? The only hope he had at being happy again, the only hope he had at making _another_ person happy, whipped away in one fateful evening.

Why did he even try? Why did he stay?

Why did he?

Stan didn't have an answer to that question. He didn't really have a reason. He hadn't left Ford's house since he showed up there a week ago. He spent all day wandering the halls as if waiting for something, or someone.

But no one came.

So why did he stay?

Stanley looked at his hands. They weren't anything like Ford's, large polydactyl fingers, so wide yet so gentle and accurate when working or writing. They made Stan's work look like cavemen's drawings.

He made a decision just then. He didn't have a reason to stay. He was a screw-up with no one who really cared about him. No one would miss him.

He remembered finding a gun somewhere in the accursed cabin. Surely Ford wouldn't have a gun with no bullets.

As Stan walked through the house, he reminisced about his childhood. Days spent flying in the sun and nights when they snuck out to fly to the beach. He remembered the day Ford taught him to fly. They had been so close.

And Stan ruined it like he did everything else.

He found himself in Ford's old study. Digging through the desk, he found the pistol in the top drawer. Stan could tell it was fully loaded. He pressed it to his temple, not one to drag things out.

" _WAIT!"_

* * *

Ford was absolutely furious with himself. Why did he have to go and die like that?

He had been working on the portal, trying to dismantle it in the few days he had before Stanley showed up to take the journal when the portal started to tremble. He tried to move, he really did, but ended up getting crushed all the same. He watched as a specter as his body bled out underneath the grey sheets of metal and wire.

After that horrifying scene, Ford took time to appreciate being a ghost. _So this is what it feels like? Peculiar, if only I had my journal with me..._

Not sure what to do now that he was a ghost, Ford tried moving around, testing his new abilities. He found it simple. Instead of walking, he just had to think about what he wanted to do, and it happened.

Ford had studied ghosts before, but he couldn't classify himself, as if he were a different type of ghost from the ones he'd studied. _Fascinating._

Time went on like this, Ford discovered he couldn't manipulate anything around him unless he was emotionally charged, which was unfortunate. Ford enjoyed not being mentally unstable for once, even if he had to die for it to happen.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Stanley finally showed up.

Ford wasn't sure what to do as he watched his brother find his secret lab, wasn't sure how to react when Stan saw his body, wings and all, crushed beneath his own creation. He didn't know how to react when Stan forced the metal off of him, knowing full well he couldn't have been alive, but begging all the same for him to _wake up, no no no! Not like this, Poindexter, c'mon wake up!_

He didn't know what to do when Stan buried him in the woods inside the fairy glen, a peaceful place. He floated by uselessly as Stan cried for days on end, roaming around the house in misery.

Honestly? The crying wasn't what freaked him out. Stan may act tough, but he was a softy.

It was the silence.

Stan stopped crying after a time and got very...quiet. He sat still for hours on end, rubbing Ford's extra pair of glasses without really looking at them, his mind far away, but where Ford couldn't tell.

This freaked Ford out because Stanely wasn't ever _quiet_. Stanley was loud. Loud and obnoxious and weird and loved to move, move, and move some more. He was the active one, the one that did tricks in the air, nearly knocking himself to the ground as he bumped into telephone poles, dizzy from the many loops he attempted. The one that splashed water everywhere while swimming, having no limit to his energy.

This Stan wasn't like that. It was all _wrong._

And Ford had no idea how to fix it. He didn't even know why he was _there._ Why he didn't just move on to wherever ghosts go. He tried talking to Stanley, but his words were never heard, landing on deaf ears. Stanley couldn't see him either. It had come as a bit of a shock when Ford tried to confront him and Stan just kept on walking, straight through his body.

So Ford waited. He wasn't sure for what, but he was patient. The universe figured all things out, in time.

...

Ford was ticked. No, he was beyond ticked, he was more than furious, he was _enraged,_ red spots forming on the edge of his vision, which he did not dwell on because he was so infuriated.

Screw it. He was scared.

Stanley wasn't suicidal! No, if they could live apart for ten years, then surely Stan could move on from this?

What was he kidding? He hadn't lived those ten years they were apart. Those were the worst years of his life. He almost didn't blame Stanley for wanting to end himself.

Almost.

He watched Stanley put the pistol to his head, he watched as his finger inched towards the trigger and he couldn't stop himself.

" _WAIT!"_

The word ripped out of him, all his fear, anger and desperation leaking into the one exclamation that he could have sworn Stanley heard. Ford didn't have a body anymore, but if he did he would be trembling. Stanley looked around confusedly, the gun falling to the floor.

Stan was gazing in the opposite direction of him, at a wall. Ford thought himself in front of him so they could look each other in the eyes.

Ford was pulsing, his body lit up with emotion, reds, and blues and black all raging inside of him, so violently that it was visible through the veil that kept them apart. Stan gasped and backed away.

"F-Ford?" Stan choked, his face pale. Ford didn't even have the words.

Oh, wait. He did. An entire dictionary of them. He stomped up to Stan and pushed him, ignoring it when his hands fell right through,

"HOW FREAKING DARE YOU!" Ford screamed Stan's eyes widened in fear and he tried to back away further, pressing against the wall.

"HOW DARE YOU TRY AND KILL YOURSELF STANLEY, AS IF ME BEING DEAD WASN'T BAD ENOUGH!" Ford's wings beat the air, not really doing anything, but they made him all the more terrifying.

Stan's eyes were filled with tears and Ford stopped himself to take a moment and realize what was happening. Stanley could see him.

Stanley could _hear him_. Ford felt relief that his wait was over, joy that he could communicate again, and more anger because Stanley wasn't supposed to cry, dangit. He was screwing this up, he didn't know how long he had and he needed to talk to his twin, not yell at him for being depressed.

Ford took in a deep breath, looked back down at his brother, who was trembling from shock and felt a new emotion.

Guilt.

Ford's body swirled with new colors of purple, white and green along with the others. The additions to his color scheme made him look like a five-year-old's art project. He ignored it for now and went back to addressing his brother. Stan looked up at him in complete and utter horror and probably confusion.

"A-are you r-real?" Stan asked, tears running down the side of his face uninhibited. Ford felt his heart shatter if that were even possible. He thought himself closer to him and knelt down beside his brother, who looked like he wanted to back away more, but didn't move.

"Yes, I am real Stanley. I can assure you that, at least. No I do not know how I got to be here, yes I saw my death, and I've been here since before you showed up." Ford cleared his throat,

"Um, thank you. For the funeral that is. It was nicer than I was expecting. You chose the place I would have chosen for myself, although you surely didn't know it was the fairy glen."

Great, now he was shining with the light pink of embarrassment too. Just great.

* * *

Stanley wasn't sure what to do. He had been ready to die a moment ago, and now his 'brother' was their, more colorful than a rainbow, thanking him for a nice funeral. Stan answered the only way he could in his absolute shock.

"Uh...no problem?"

Ford seemed satisfied. It was hard to read Ford just then, considering all he was made up of was much too bright colors than hurt to look at. Stan was on autopilot, still confused and shocked, so of course, he had to ask;

" Why are you so colorful?"

He watched on, only half paying attention as his brain tried to absorb what was happening. Ford looked down at himself and then back at Stanley, who was staring intently. The pink became more prominent. So his emotions were just laid out there for Stan to see. Peachy.

"I believe that they are my emotions and it was only with incredible emotional stimulation, such as one as your attempted suicide, that allowed me to take form," Ford answered, looking completely serious.

The only thing that pierced his foggy mind was that his attempted suicide had caused Ford emotion. Ford had yelled at him for trying to die. Stan wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Why?"

Ford rolled his eyes, "I don't know _why_ Stanley. I don't know any more about what's going on than you do."

"No, I mean why did you care if I died or not?" Stan asked, blunt as usual.

Ford looked shocked, an angry orange replacing the pink. "What do you mean why? Of course, I cared!"

"Didn't care much when I tried two weeks ago."

"WHAT?"

Ford loved Stanley, that he had always known. The only reason he stayed away for so long was the trademark Pines stubbornness and pride. Stanley could reach out first if he wanted to talk.

Ford had been such a fool.

How many times had he nearly lost his brother, completely oblivious to it ever happening? Something about struck Ford as funny, and he started to laugh, a hysterical, self-deprecating, harsh sound that made Stan flinch back again.

Of course, he would have to die for them to talk things out. They _would_ be that stubborn.

By the time Ford could open his eyes again, Stan was curled up in his wings, cradling the gun once more. Ford's only thought was it to be _gone_ and it less than a second after the thought, the gun had disappeared. Stan looked up with disbelieving eyes.

"You are real. You have to be real. But I just don't- there is nothing about this that I understand."

Ford sighed. This was going to take a while.

* * *

 **You didn't give me prompts, so I gave you angst. Haha, so there. I always wanted to do one of these ghost au's. What did you think?  
**  
 **Stan: Why me?**

 **Ford: What do you mean? I was the one who died.**

 **Stan: Yeah, but I'm the one with mental issues.**

 **Ford: ...true.**

 **Fiddleford: *looks around* Why am I here? Where is the other Stan and Ford? The ones with the guitar an all?**

 **Stan: What?**

 **Ford: Allow me. *More nerd babble, because it's awesome***

 **Hope I didn't make you cry...**


	22. 2: Feelings

**So Fantasy-Magic, really wants this Ghost Au to continue, and it surprised me, but one review and it shall continue, right? So...Here ya go. Sorry if it isn't consistent.  
**

* * *

They were at an impasse.

Stan, even after Ford had calmed down, could still see his brother, so they were now stuck together unless Stanley wanted to leave, which he didn't. Ford had attempted to leave the house, but it was proving difficult. He would make it about a foot past the door before being sucked back in. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Ford, at first, wanted to urge his brother to just take the journal and go, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way Stan questioned reality under his breath or made a self-deprecating remark, but Ford wasn't ready to let Stan out of his sight just then.

After Stan shook off the shock, he was acting...strange. Stranger than before. _Probably just hard to deal with, living with the man you buried in his backyard. It's nothing, he'll be fine._ Ford tried to comfort himself. It wasn't working.

He almost wished Stan's emotions were as laid out for him to see as his own were. Almost.

Because what would he see if they were?

Ford shook off the stray thought with a shake of his head. He was supposed to be practicing, not asking himself unsolvable questions.

After making the gun disappear, Ford had been practicing with his ability to interact with objects. So far, it was only after he frustrated himself to the point where he was literally red in the face, that he could even make the smallest object twitch. It was an improvement, but improvement at the cost of his sanity. Ford sighed at the pencil he had been trying to hold and thought himself away. He needed a break.

Ford thought himself around the house, searching for Stan, who was nowhere to be seen. His body overcame with an orange-ish red tinge as he began to panic. He even checked the basement, a place both of them avoided, and he burst entirely red-orange when Stan wasn't there either. _Stanley!? Where are you?_

Ford had a very good imagination. He mind was great at presenting him with all the possibilities. _All_ of them.

Fortunately, that's when he felt (rather than saw) Stanley enter the house again. Ford thought himself to the living room, where Stanley was sitting in his armchair, staring at the wall. Ford materialized in front of him, which made him jump ever so slightly (he was getting used to it, but it was still surprising.) He took in Ford's harrassed appearance and the bright colorful hue of his body and frowned.

"You alright? What happened?" Stan asked, completely oblivious to being the one to cause Ford's panic. Ford groaned, his orange-red complexion fading to many different shades of red and blue (including one pink closer to his face. Had he overreacted?) Ford crossed his arms, still mortified at having his feelings so obvious.

"You are what happened, Stanley," Ford growled. He stayed where he was, unsure if he wanted to yell or 'walk' away from it all. Stan looked confused, but rolled his eyes,

"Well, aren't you being perfectly straightforward and obvious. C'mon Ford, what's goin' on?" He leaned out of the chair to sit closer to Ford, who huffed.

"I was looking for you and you were gone." The pink became more noticeable, as did the darker greenish blues. Ford turned away as if that would stop Stan from seeing the swirling colors that gave him form. Stan looked like he had been slapped in the face,

"Oh. Ford, I was flying. I needed some air..." Stan said, looking a bit ashamed. "Sorry, I shoulda told ya where I was going."

Ford turned almost entirely gray, only a couple shades of blue and green staying behind, Stan's brow furrowed in concern, but he didn't mention it.

"No, I overreacted. You're allowed to leave whenever you feel like it, it's not like I can stop you..." Ford looked down at his hands, the ones that were incapable of even moving a pencil. He sighed. "It's just, so frustrating. Why am I here? Why can you see me? Why can't I leave? What's the point?" Ford began to rant, spiraling down a road of endless questions he wasn't sure he could answer. He only stopped when he...when he... _felt something._

It was on his back, something was on his back, he yelped and whipped around (well, his way of 'whipping around' which was more like glitching and finding himself looking behind him), only to see Stanley gripping empty air, looking shocked. (Again. Everything was shocking nowadays, Stan thought.)

Ford's mind only took a moment to comprehend what happened, "Did you...? Can I...? Wait, what?" Ford thought himself closer to his brother and reached out his hand, only for it to fall right through Stan's arm. He sighed. Dangit.

So close. So _freaking_ close.

* * *

Stanley did it without thinking, he reached over to rub down Ford's feathers since they looked all puffed up and ruffled. He didn't think anything would happen. That is until Ford cried out in surprise. He stayed where he was, a little punch drunk from it all, and didn't move when Ford muttered under his breath, moving to touch his arm. He shivered when He saw Ford's bright, light blue hand go straight through his arm. Ford fell back in resignation, the blue returning to gray.

Stan wasn't sure what was going on, but he felt the need to comfort his brother even more so than he did a moment ago. Shifting closer, he reached out to Ford's wings again, which were facing toward him. (It only now occurred to him that Ford was like an angel from the movie's with those wings, but he ignored the thought, putting it away for later.)

He couldn't feel anything, but he heard Ford's breath(?) (did ghost's need to breathe?) hitch. Ford turned around slowly, his body glowing an entire collage of colors.

His eyes widened,

"I can feel it."

* * *

 **Haha, gonna just have ta wait aren't ya? MWAHAHAHA!**

 **Stan: And people call me evil.**

 **Ford: WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!**

 **Stan: I don't think I've ever heard you yell at anyone but me and Bill Cipher.**

 **Ford: *hissing* Don't speak of that devil corn chip.**

 **Me: MWHAHAHAHA! (Lol, it's sad 'cause it's true. The only ones worthy of Ford's temper is his brother and an interdimensional being of unlimited power.)**


	23. 3: Alien swears are the best

**Tw: blood, death, etc. It's a ghost fic. Also, a super lazy explanation for Ford's ghostliness. Suicidal ideation, poor Stan. I torture him. Also, me talking directly to you in the story, feel free to ignore me. {} -me {all of these are trigger warnings because I can}  
**

* * *

It had been several weeks since Ford first felt Stanley's hand. Days passed in a blur of discoveries that made both their heads spin.

It was as if Ford had been turned into a being of pure emotion, and the longer and more turbulent his emotions were, the more solidified he became, and the more powerful. Months after his death and he could finally use a pencil for an extended period of time. He also found that he could move farther past the door, but was still flung backward if he went too far.

Neither was sure how to think about it all.

For one thing, it was nice that Ford could interact with objects again, but for another, it made them question many things, including-

Was he even a ghost?

Ford studied spirits, he had pages dedicated to them in his Journals, but nothing like what he now found himself as. He couldn't even identify himself properly, other than creating a new category. Ford turned his eye back to when it all started. He went to the basement and searched the area where he died, even going as far as picking up a few of his old bloody feathers off the ground, anything that could seem out of place. His efforts went unrewarded.

Of course, he didn't tell Stanley any of this. Visiting the basement was a no-no for his mentally unstable twin. Ford already, almost as soon as he realized he could move things, removed all the sharp objects in the house and hid them. Stan may have noticed but didn't say anything. Although, Ford caught him whispering to himself from time to time. It was honestly concerning, but Ford wasn't sure what to do about it. Bringing in another person might be detrimental, particularly if Stan could see him but they couldn't. That would be especially bad.

So, he did his best to keep both their spirits (ha) up. Which was a little surreal, because that was supposed to be _Stan's_ job. Not his.

In the name of Odin, wasn't death supposed to get you away from all this crap?

...

Ford finally couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand not knowing.

He needed help. (Just like last time...He thought. NO! Don't think about that...don't think about that...) {Speaking of mentally unstable...Lol, hi it's me. The author. Sorry, I'll go now.}

Which is why Stanley was now beside him, staring at the concrete where his body sat as he bled to death. He saw Stan curl into his wings as if they could hide him from it all. Ford's body swirled with pale purple, regret taking hold as he watched his brother shudder in fear and disgust.

"Sorry, this was a bad idea..." Ford whispered, kicking the ground. Kinda.

Stan started in surprise, "What? No. I-just...bad memories. I'm fine. I'm fine." Stan whispered the last part, trying to convince himself it was true.

He circled the scene, examining it just as thoroughly as Ford had. Ford observed as Stan shook his head and moved on. Cocking a brow, Ford asked him what he was looking for.

"The piece of metal that-yeah. That piece of metal." Stan looked up in victory or something akin to it. "aha! I found it." He kicked over the rather large piece of metal to examine it.

It was smeared with blood and bits of feather. Ford winced in sympathy when Stan stared at it in abject horror but didn't say anything. He swallowed nervously. Ford moved in front of him quickly. His body an almost solid black, his wings spread out to shield Stanley's eyes. {He is gonna be so embarrassed by Stan later...So much stupid pink.}

He heard Stan back away as Ford knelt closer, trying to get a better look. He was searching for something but wasn't sure what. He just had this feeling (a lavender purple) that something there would give him...there! A small symbol. He remembered carving it into the side of the portal. Something Bill told him was for stabilizing it.

It must have hit him right in the back, burning through his clothes.

Well, no wonder. Should have known. Stupid corn chip. {Sorry Ms. Cipher, but he is evil.}

Ford took Stanley back upstairs, who felt like a child, but whatever. He didn't wanna see that crap anyway, and it was nice that his halluci- I mean ghost brother cared. (Not like the real one ever did)

...

So, now what? A symbol had branded itself onto his body and made him into a creature of...emotion? What sort of crap is this? {These are not his direct thoughts, I'm summarizing}

He wasn't sure what else to do, other than record his observations about himself and continue keeping Stan safe. Speaking of Stan {I bounce around a lot, don't I?} what was Ford going to do with him? He was sure that Stan wasn't...alright. But getting Stan to tell him that was an entirely different story.

"I'm fine."

"Don't worry about it."

"What's with the face, Poindexter?"

Stanley seemed resolute about keeping up his act even though it was pretty weak, to begin with. Ford thought that he had gotten through to him a couple of times, but no. Stubborn as ever.

Ford was musing over what to do, sitting in his study when he felt Stanley leave the house. He had gotten good at noticing when his brother left, so he didn't freak out again. And Stan did need to leave occasionally, whether for food (his house wasn't well stocked. The bunker was, but neither could really access it.) or for his own 'enjoyment', going on frequent walks for whatever reason.

Thinking himself out of his study, he went to see if he could catch Stanley before he was out of view. He wanted to talk to him. Maybe get him to finally open up, you never know.

He thought himself to the doorway, where he had could stick his head out the door, no problem. Stanley was outside under the bright stars (when did it get dark?) wings spread as if ready to take off. He called out,

"Stanley!"

Stan flung around, startled. He stared at Ford with wide eyes, before taking off hurriedly.

Crap.

Ford forced himself past the doorway, calling out. Why would Stan run from him? He struggled to keep himself outside as he naturally tried to lift off after him. Of course, that didn't work. Ford sighed as he was flung backward. He suspected his own wards for keeping things out were keeping him in and it was extremely frustrating. His body bubbled red and orange in both annoyance and a bit of fear. What was going on?

In one last attempt in desperation, he thought himself outside his barriers, he put all his mental concentration to work and thought so hard he could _feel_ himself slipping through the barrier. Worming his way past a weak spot. Weak spot? He needed to fix that. Later.

It all happened in less than a second. One moment he was inside, fuming with indignation at not being able to follow his brother, the second he was standing outside, staring up into the star-filled sky. His body burst with white and he found himself in the sky, mimicking Stan's movements, even though it wasn't completely necessary.

Stan looked so positively shocked that he nearly stopped moving, falling a couple inches before righting himself. Ford glared at him, "What do you think you're doing?" He asked when Stan turned away from him. Stan didn't say anything, but Ford saw his lips moving silently.

He thought himself in front of his brother, both of their wings beating in tandem as he tried to get Stanley to look him in the eye. "Stan, what's going on?"

His voice was quieter that time, more soothing and less accusatory. Ford saw his brother begin to tremble. He finally looked Ford in the eye and Ford gasped.

His usual light brown eyes, so soft and kind, yet knowing and tough were now empty. Black pits in the dark star-light that made him want to shiver.

Empty. Dark.

Lifeless.

That's when Stan's wings stopped beating.

...

He wasn't a color anymore-that was for sure. Technically, white wasn't a color, but now he wasn't just radiating white, he _was_ white. A pure bright light that many who looked up in the sky mistook for a shooting star as he dived, flying right beneath his falling brother.

Stan expected to fall straight through his brother's arms. He was only a hallucination after all. A dream brought to life by his messed up mind after Ford's death because he just couldn't _handle_ being _alone_.

He should have learned to expect the unexpected.

His breath was knocked out of his chest as he landed right in his brother's waiting arms. His left wing sprawled awkwardly over his twin's face. Neither spoke. It was just a bit too much just then.

Ford flew them down, his right foot reaching the ground first, his landing slow as to not startle Stan, who looked absolutely terrified. _Did he think I wasn't real this entire time?_ Ford asked himself, feeling both stupid and useless. Stan was a conman, of course, he thought it was all a lie. How could someone still be there after you buried their corpse?

Ford knew the answer, but that wouldn't make Stan believe.

He walked them into the house, still not putting Stan down. He didn't try to leave Ford's arms anyway.

Ford pushed his way past the door, his mind completely skipping over the fact that he made it past the barriers without any problems. He put Stan down gently on his armchair, only to sit down on top of him. That's when Stan said something.

"Uh-what are you doing?"

"You're not allowed to go anywhere, and I'm never leaving your side again you fraking frell."

"Did you just Star-trek swear at me?"

"Yes."

"Well, alright then." Stan said, mind on autopilot once more he asked, "You feel solid."

Ford looked down at his hands in instant reaction to Stan's words.

Beige. Not Beige the swirling color. Beige the color of his skin. He could make out veins and feel his bones in his hands. He gave his wings an experimental flap and kicked his feet out, still sitting on his brother.

"Huh. Guess I wasn't ever a ghost..."

Stan just looked at him.

Ford stared back, "What?"

Stan shook his head, "You come back from fraking death and all you can say is, HUH?"

Ford blinked. "Yes?"

Stan's arms wrapped around his waist and hung on tight. Ford ignored what may or may not have been full out sobs emanating from the person beneath him, "I fraking missed you Sixer." Stan sobbed.

Ford smirked. "You alien swore. I'm never letting you live that down, you know that, right?"

"As long as your still there to annoy me about it, I don't fraking care."

Yeah, they were gonna be fine.

* * *

 **:P**

 **Stan: What the frell was this?**

 **Ford: Are you ever going to stop that?**

 **Stan: No. You and your nerd swears are awesome. Plus, the author is a Mormon Christian girl. She won't let me swear for real.**

 **Ford: Good point.**

 **Me: How to tell people your religion. Put it in a fanfiction and let your borrowed characters do it for you! Because you're too awkward to do it yourself. XD I need sleep, goodnight friend people faces. (I know this wasn't very good. To sum up: Ford was a demon of pure emotion and the more 'emotional' he got the more human he became until BOOM! Alive once more. I know, it sucked. Sorry.)**


	24. I just thought of this

**I JUST FREAKIN' REALIZED THAT FORD IS ALWAYS THE ONE TO START PHYSICAL ALTERCATIONS!**

 **Okay, hear me out here. Ford pushed Stanley onto the couch when he was yelling at him about WCT. He tackled him in the basement, and he punched him coming out of the portal! Anyone else realizes this!? That is what this fic is about.**

* * *

Stan smiled tauntingly as he strapped up his boxing gloves. "Come at me, bro!" He held up his arms and got ready to catch the hit Ford was about to throw at him. Ford was failing his boxing class, and even though it didn't affect his overall grades in school, it bothered both of them. Ford that he was failing, and Stan that Ford wasn't going to be able to defend himself.

Ford struck out and Stan sidestepped it easy. He rolled his eyes. "Come on Ford, I know you can do it better than-oof!" Stan stumbled back and Ford grinned at him triumphantly. Stan gaped.

"You little cheat!" Stan got up and squared his shoulders. "It's _on._ "

* * *

 **And that is my headcanon, that Ford was comfortable hitting Stanley because they did it a lot during boxing practice.**

 **Yep.**

 **Stan: ...I love this.**

 **Ford: What, why?**

 **Stan: I'm just so frelling proud.**

 **Ford: ...?**

 **Me: Yep. I almost cried writing this...I need help. Not sure if it was tears of joy or sadness either...**

 **(Also, I wasn't sure where else to post this, because making it its own story seemed stupid, so if you want to imagine them with wings, go ahead. )**


	25. A real chapter to a real story

**AH! *Breathes deeply* Okay, so. This person: Enlightening-Gravity on Tumblr and I had a chat, and they are super into this au! They had so many thingy-merbobs to share and it was all so wonderful, I'm basically starting over with this au! So, here we go with the young Stan twins again. Hopefully, this won't jump around as much as before. Enlightening-Gravity is responsible for this. (Yay!)**

 **Note: This is probably the last thing I'll write until after I return from my trip this month. I'm leaving on Wednesday, so forgive me for all the cliffhangers all my stories are on right now, I will finish them. Eventually.**

 **1961, Glass shard beach, New Jersey. Ten years old.**

Stan groaned and pulled the thin blanket over his eyes, curling in on himself when his feet were no longer under the too small quilt. He had been staring at the ceiling in agony for the last three hours, and it was making sleep impossible. He rolled over, eyes clenched shut. His back was aching and itching and he couldn't even reach it, he'd tried. The bed creaked beneath him as he tossed and turned and Ford blinked awake blearily.

"Ley...?" Ford mumbled, one arm hanging off the bed as if reaching out. Stan grunted tiredly.

"Sorry, go ta sleep Sixer." He said quietly. Stan bit his lip as he forced himself to lay still. Ford shook his head with a yawn, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Wha's wrong?" Ford slurred, eyes still drooping with sleep. He did his best to sit up and lean his head over the edge of the bunk. "Didja have a nightmare?" He asked worriedly. Stan shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Nah, it's nothin'. Just go ta sleep, alright? I'm fine." Stan smiled up at him through gritted teeth once and rolled over again. The burning ache was only getting worse. Ford glared at him through slitted eyes. He couldn't actually see Stan's face, his glasses were confiscated by Stan at some point so he wouldn't have marks on his face in the morning, but he could imagine the too large grin just fine. Ford rolled off the bed limply, letting muscle memory catch him as he dropped to the ground.

"Ford." Stan whined, "I'm fine."

Ford ignored Stan's mumbles and clambered in beside him, dragging his own blanket with him. "I'm not movin' till you tell me wha's wrong." Ford declared, plopping his head down beside Stan's. His elbow accidentally grazed Stan's back as Stan turned to face him and Stan shouted out, flinching away. Ford was suddenly much more awake, eyes wide open as he shot up, hand going out to catch Stan before he fell off the bed. Stan caught himself and immediately started reaching behind him as if trying to scratch his back. Ford saw this in a blur, still not wearing his glasses.

"Woah! Ley, C'mon, what's wrong?" Ford asked, unsure how to help. He fumbled around for his glasses and shoved them on his face. He blinked as he took in the scene properly. Stan was trying to scratch at his shoulder blades- with mild success. Ford leaned forward and rubbed at the place he thought Stan was trying to reach. Stan slumped and look relieved, but whimpered, contradicting himself. The rubbing helped- but it still hurt. Ford's brow furrowed as massaged his brother's back, something felt off.

"Ley, I think your shoulder blades are swollen." Ford surmised, tracing his fingers over the strange lumps. Stan looked back with a questioning brow,

"What?"

Ford nodded and told Stan to take off his shirt. He gasped.

Two bony stubs were sticking out right below Stan's shoulder blades. Ford's eyebrows nearly flew off his face. "Ley, this is...I don't know what this is! Your back is growing extra bones!" Ford exclaimed. He poked them and apologized when Stan cried out.

"Sorry." He mumbled his mind somewhere else. He looked up suddenly and lunged towards his desk. Stan just looked at him, grimacing in pain. Ford sat up, holding a book, glasses askew looking very proud of himself. He was mumbling under his breath and started flipping through the pages, searching for something.

"Aha! I found it." He fixed his glasses and flopped back to the bed, shoving the book under Stan's nose. Stan flinched away and laughed.

"Poindexter, I know you like your weird books, but I don't think nows the time..." Stan's gaze was attracted to the picture on the page and he trailed off.

It was a detailed drawing of an avian-human. They had wings sprouting from their backs. The picture made the man look tall and proud. Ford gestured towards it dramatically.

"Ley, look at what this says! This describes what would happen were a human being were to grow wings! I know, it's ridiculous, I was reading this earlier and the science seems impossible, but now I'm starting to think, I mean, look at your back! This book describes exactly what this looks like." He flipped to another page, "it even has another picture, see?"

Stan stared at it, dumbfounded. "What? Ford, this is, I think your weird books are gettin' to you, I mean, I'm sure that's not what's happening." Stan shifted and gave him a searching look, "Plus, what about you? Are you feeling itchy or somethin'? Why would I have these and not you?"

Ford brow furrowed and his face lit up with a knowing look. "Ibuprofen!"

"What about it? Are ya gonna get me some?" Stan asked, looking hopeful (they weren't technically allowed to access that particular cabinet on their own, and were both loathed to ask for anything from their especially. Although, they weren't above sneaking things occasionally.) Ford shook his head.

"No. Well, maybe in a minute, but I had some earlier, so..." Ford felt behind his back, but he couldn't reach it. He pulled off his own shirt. "See anything? The medicine from my initial headache would have neutralized the pain.

Stan examined his brothers back and gasped, "You have them too, you were right! What do I mean, you were right? Of course, you were." Stan snorted. "Probably right about the wings too, although I find that a little hard to believe. I know you think those heebie-jeebie things are real, Poindexter-"

"Of course their real, and this will prove it." Ford pointed at the stubs with a smile, Stan's jaw was still clenched, "Oh, I should go get you those pills, right? I'll be right back."

Stan smiled, although it was tense. "Don't forget to wear socks."

Ford rolled his eyes, "I'm already wearing them, knucklehead." He left, leaving the door behind him open so he made less noise going in and out. Stan sighed.

What a night.

* * *

 **This was not as good as I wanted it to be, but I really wanted to get _something_ out there to you guys...so. Hope you enjoyed. Bye bye! (I'll probably edit this later...but not right now. I'm a little to lazy for that...) **


	26. I actually made an update- wow

**Enlightening-gravity on Tumblr falls is to blame for this. Just so you know. Tw: Kinda angsty...hehe. Yer welcome.  
**

 **NOT Stancest. It's just really cute! Lol.  
**

* * *

Three years.

That's how long they waited. That's how long they suffered, the constant pain in their back a constant reminder. Three years is how long they lied about why they both took painkillers every night- they couldn't steal from the cupboard forever before someone found out.

The day their wings surfaced, Ford was ecstatic.

Stan was worried.

How would they hide this? This. This wasn't normal. Not that Stan cared about normal- but he knew a few things about people. People- they were cruel. They tortured and taunted and it was Stan's job to stop them. To protect _him._

He told Ford his concerns and Ford, after many, many nerd words, came up with an easy, if uncomfortable, solution.

Ford held up a black fabric strap sorta thing he'd made out of an old sweater. He held it up with a bright proud smile and Stan cocked a brow.

"So you know how to sew, what's new?" Stan chuckled when Ford threw him a glare and scoffed.

"Well, if you had paid _attention_ , you would know." Ford tugged off his shirt and began working the strap thing over his head, "It's a restraint of sorts, it keeps the wings in place flat against our backs without hurting them or ruffling our feathers too much!" Stan laughed at that, they sounded like two crazy birds or somethin'.

"Sixer! This is great! Can ya teach me how ta make one?!"

Ford laughed, "Yes! It's easy..."

...

Two years later- Ford and Stan were in their room. They were relaxing after another hard day at school. Ford was acing the classes and Stan was...keeping up fairly well, to the surprise of most people. He wasn't even cheating! {the teachers made sure of it}

They both immediately stripped themselves of their shirts and the restraints (long since upgraded from old sweater sleeves) Ford groaned as his wings unfurled, shaking the stiffness away. Stan just sighed appreciatively. He'd fallen on his back during boxing practice that day and they were aching worse than his arms were.

"Man, this feels good- I've been waiting to do this all day." Stan closed his eyes and leaned back, letting his wings- large and white- hang, dropping to the ground. Ford found himself staring at them, his mind whirring faster than Stan thought he could punch somethin'.

Stan caught his gaze and cocked a brow. "What? I got somethin' on my face?" Ford blinked.

"What- no. No, I just... your wings touch the ground." He turned his head to look behind him and noticed his own wings dragging on the ground. After a moment and grin spread across his cheeks, wide and excited. He looked back to Stan, eyes shining.

"Want to test a hypothesis of mine?"

Stan took a moment to process and a mischevious, troublemaking smile slowly crept onto his face, a perfect match to Ford's. He lifted his wings from the ground.

"Poindexter, you do know how to climb out a window, doncha?"

The first day they snuck out of the house, they nearly got caught. Their ma had been outside, shooing out the last of the customers from the shop. Stan managed to save Ford from falling at least twice. Regardless they both smiled and snickered together, reveling in their secret.

First time Ford tried to fly out there on the beach, he'd fallen right on his butt and Stan couldn't stop laughing at his face { _ya look like a shocked owl!...shut up.)_ until it was his turn. That shut him up pretty fast.

...

They were seventeen.

They flew whenever they had the chance. Stan was getting straight A's and B's, not that it impressed anyone. Ford was top in everything he did, of course.

They were called to the office.

They rose from their seats and left together. Stan knocked on the principal's door. It was usually for him. He might have okay grades, but he was nothing if not a prankster. The teachers hated him for it. His mischevious smile didn't help.

They hated Ford even more. He always outdid them. In their own classes, no less.

They walked in. Well, Ford did. The door shut in Stan's face.

It was for Ford. Stan's brow furrowed. Had they finally gotten sick of his brother? Were they going to kill him or somethin'? Stan stood tensely against the wall, one ear pressed firmly against the wall.

The walls were thin- it wasn't hard to eavesdrop.

 _He's been offered a place at West Coast Tech._

 _What?!_

 _WHAT?!_

 _What's that?_

 _For the best of the best..._

 _Wait...is Stanley...?_

 _What- that imp? At this rate, he'd be lucky to get out of Jersey, much less go to college._

 _'Bang!'_

 _Stanford!_

 _Don't talk about Stanley that way! No. I refuse. We can't afford it anyway. What? Don't look at me like that, even with a scholarship it would be impossible. I can't-_

 _It's a free ride. Completely free! You don't know what you're talking about, Stanford!_

 _I- It won't give me what I need! I can't go there! I don't need to!_

 _Stanford, you're doing this whether you like it or not! You can't let your pathetic excuse of a brother stop you!_

Stan froze. It had gone silent. He took a deep breath. Pushing himself off the wall, Stan pushed open the door. Ford was in the middle of the room, his chair knocked to the ground. Filbrick was in his face, large and menacing, his fists clenched. Ma was in the corner, watching the scene play forth with wide- frightened eyes.

The principal was behind his desk against the wall. He was worried the two were going to start brawling. Not that it would be an even match, more of a beating really.

They were all staring at him now. Stan ignored his everyone- everyone but Ford. Ford was staring at him, face frozen in one of determination mixed with pain.

Stan smiled soothingly, his voice soft. "You're going, Sixer." Ford's face fell.

"But Ley-"

Stan cut him off with a chuckle. "Ya really think a state border and 'o couple naysayers are gonna keep me from leavin' with ya? I don't need ta go to a fancy school ta follow ya, Ford. Just my car, a diploma and my charming personality." Stan grinned. "Wanna be my roommate out there?"

Ford blinked, letting the implications set in. A smile not unlike the one they shared the day Ford asked if he wanted to fly found it's way onto Ford's lips, spreading wide.

"Wherever we go, we got together, right?" Ford asked, stepped closer and Stan pulled him into a hug, which quickly turned to a chokehold.

"Now ya gettin' it, Poindexter!" Stan let him go when he tapped out and chuckled, " I thought you were the smart one!"

The to other men in the room spoke simultaneously, snapping the boys out of their banter. "He is!"

Ford glared at them before turning back to Stan. "Let's get outta here, I think I'm done with adults for today."

Stan started laughing in earnest, "Ford! I think that's the most crap you've ever given anyone ever! Now if only you could be like that with Crampelter!" Stan flopped an arm over Ford's shoulder and Ford's arm found it's way on Stan's shoulder and they walked out of the office, all three adults staring at their retreating forms.

Filbrick growled. This was not to be tolerated.

The twins- oblivious to their father's plans, walked away. Neither had ever felt freer.

* * *

 **I'm sorry.**

 **Stan: What just happened?**

 **I know, this bounces around a lot. If you have any questions, hopefully, the next chapter with answer some of them, or you can pm me with your inquiries.**

 **Ford: ...wow. This really isn't canon compliant. It's not even a parallel.**

 ***sigh* I know. Heh, I might edit this later- you never really know with me. I don't even know. This was really fun to write though! I hope ya'll like it.**


	27. Don't kill me pls

***screams*  
**

* * *

Stanley took a deep breath.

His fingers loosened their grip and he let them fall to his side. The rest of his body had gone slack and he tilted forward.

He was falling. Right off a cliff.

The air whipped past him and for a moment there was nothing but the bright blue waves beneath him and the rushing of the wind in his ears.

"Aha!"

Stan glanced to his side and grinned.

Ford loved this just as much as he did. The freedom.

They fell together, their vision filled with nothing but the shimmering ocean beneath them. Suddenly both were hyper-focused.

In unison, they spread their wings out, a glaring white against the water. They were abruptly forced ten feet up into the air before slowing to a glide. Ford narrowed his body, closing in on himself. He sped up, going low enough to let his hand skim across the water. Stan chuckled when the spray got him in the face.

He began beating his wings, gaining height. Ford was racing ahead of him. A faint scream made it's way to Stan's ears, but it didn't concern him. It was filled with elation, adrenaline.

Stan smirked and flew higher. The briefest of seconds went by where he was hanging in mid-air until he was falling again. Eyes wide, Stan shot like an arrow through the sky, heading straight for the water in front of his twin.

The moment he went under- it was unbelievable. Not a mili-second later he was back above the water, spinning and splashing the water right into Ford's face. He gave Ford a cheeky grin and Ford crossed his arms in false annoyance.

After they were done rough-housing, they took a moment of rest. Soaring in the air, letting the wind carry them over the water. The sun was setting behind large fluffy clouds, a scene worthy of an artist. They gazed into the sunset, letting their worries fall away with the light.

Darkness began to shroud the sky and Ford signed to Stan that they had to head back.

Stan sighed but complied. Unlike Ford, who had to gain height and carefully turn back around, Stan did a loop in the air and was suddenly staring into the colorful expanse of the night sky, his wings beneath him like a soft bed. Had he not started to lose height, he might not have ever moved. He quickly spun in the air and spread his wings far. The wind carried him up several feet, catching him and Ford settled beside him.

Stan glanced at his twin. Ford looked relaxed. It wasn't something Stan was used to seeing on Ford's face. Ford- ever looking forward, always working, always stressed about something. Ford didn't relax. It wasn't in his nature.

He snorted at the thought. Nature. They were freaks of nature- there was nothing natural about either of them...yet. It suits them, it suits _him_ so well. Stan couldn't imagine living any other way.

And that was okay, Stan thought, as they touched back down on land. Stan, sure-footed and steady while Ford stumbled slightly. _We can...do this. We'll be fine._ He watched as Ford laughed from the excess excitement, and chimed in with a chuckled of his own as they slipped back into their harnesses. Stan loathed to call them that, but they did harness in their wings, and they did look a lot like what a harness for a dog or cat would, so it's not like it didn't make sense. They quickly covered them with their shirts and started making their way home.

They began walking back in comfortable silence, Ford stumbling slightly. Probably from exhaustion, Stan mused. He always overworked himself and was never that adept with his physical education. That must have been a work out for him.

Once Ford nearly tripped on a rock, Stan teased him for being such a clutz and under the guise of giving a half hug, helped support him, wrapping one arm behind his back. Ford rolled his eyes and returned the hug before letting go after a moment.

"I can walk by myself, Stanley."

Stan gave him a strange look, raising a brow and shrugged.

"If you say so." He released his arm and Ford immediately fell to the ground, he'd been relying on Stan more than he thought. Ford's eyes widened in surprise and his mouth opened with an audible pop as his legs gave out beneath him. It quickly turned from his shocked expression to something more akin to a pout. He huffed in agitation with himself, swiping uselessly at his sand covered jeans.

"Why do you get to be the athletic one?" Ford asked. He looked up and held out a hand, silently asking for help. Maybe it seemed a bit pathetic, but to be fair they did have a rigorous leg workout in Gym that day that Ford was unable to worm his way out of.

Stan chuckled heartily as he helped Ford back to his feet. "As I recall it's 'cause, you got the brains. It's only fair I getta be good at somethin'." Ford frowned as he adjusted his glasses with one hand, the other over Stan's shoulders once more.

"Stanley, I thought we talked about this." Ford sighed, "you aren't a moron."

"Tell that to my IQ score."

"Stanley!"

...

They made it home at nine P.M. Their mother was waiting for them. She jumped up when she saw them walk in and quickly enveloped them both in a hug. She leaned away and stared them both down, hard enough for them to hang their heads in tandem.

"Now what were you two thinking with that show at school today?! Do you know how worried I've been?! I had no idea where either of you were and your Father-" She stopped, glancing fearfully towards the stairs that led up to the house. She had been waiting in the shop, wanting to get to them first.

"You're Father is _severely_ disappointed in _both_ of you." She whispered, her eyes flickering towards the stairs as if they had ears. She broke out of it and took them both by the shoulder. Ford was standing on his own, sinking in on himself as he thought of what Filbrick was going to say. _Or do,_ Stan thought.

Stan wasn't too worried. He'd been through this before. Ford just hadn't ever been in trouble before. Of course, it was a bit nerve-wracking the first few times, but Ford was stronger than he thought. He would be fine. _It's really not that bad. At least Dad is disappointed in him for his actions and not for being born in the first place_.

Yeah...Ford would be fine.

They were ushered upstairs and Ford lagged behind. Stan sighed in understanding. That pit of anxiety one got right before being dealt a punishment was usually worse than he actually punishment. It didn't help he was so tired he had begun tilting on the spot.

Stan dragged his feet right alongside Ford, helping him stay up when it seemed like he was about to fall. Ford smiled gratefully, albeit nervously.

They stopped right outside the kitchen where their Father was sitting in his chair. Face as emotionless as a brick. If there was any emotion or life in his eyes, it was hidden behind the dark glasses he never took off.

Fibrick stared straight ahead, making both boys squirm. He only spoke when Ford nearly collapsed. He raised a brow as Stan caught Ford.

"What happened?"

Stan glanced to their Father. "He's just tired..." Stan whispered. He looked down, unable to hold Filbrick's gaze for long.

Filbrick watched them another moment in silence before slowly standing up. Stan and Ford flinched. Filbrick ignored it.

"You two cannot live like this anymore."

Stan and Ford stiffened. What did that mean?

Unfortunately, Filbrick decided to elaborate.

"You will not share classes anymore. You will work, _on you're own_. That's been the problem this entire time." Filbrick growled. "You," He pointed at Stan, "ride on Ford's coattails just to scrape by with your grades,"

Stan wanted to snap back, say the only thing he took from his brother was his time. Sure, Ford helped Stan out occasionally, but it's not like he cheated off Ford or anything. Instead, he hung his head as Filbrick towered over them, keeping him silent.

Filbrick turned to Ford, who was staring at him with wide fear-filled eyes. "And you. You don't have a spine. You can't even walk by yourself," He snarled, his words were harsh, but they immediately got Ford thinking about everything he relied on Stanley for and he shrunk back, trying to hold back tears.

Another silence. Filbrick abruptly snapped at Stan.

"Get your stuff from your room. It's about time you each got your own room."

Filbrick stared at Ford. "You. Go to bed."

Stan was speechless. Nothing had ever prepared him for this. Spankings...groundings. Those were easy.

But taking away his twin?! That wasn't a punishment! That was...that was...bad. Stan didn't even have a word adequate enough to describe it. When neither of them moved, Filbrick's voice rose,

"GO!" He roared and they both scurried off.

Stan bit his lip. How was he going to get around this one?

* * *

 **I hate me too, it's okay.**

 **Stan: ...why.**

 **Ford: Must I be so physically incapable?**

 **Me: Yes.**

 **Ford: WHY.**

 **Me: CAUSE IT'S CUTE AND IT SETS UP THE PLOT.**

 **Stan: ...?**

 **Me: What's up Stan?**

 **Stan: ...?!**

 **Me: Okay...**

 **If this doesn't make sense I once again apologize. I'm too lazy to proof-read it.**


	28. Oh my gosh have some filler

***screams*  
**

* * *

The first few days were unbearable.

School was different, for one. Filbrick had changed both of their schedule's. They didn't see each other at all through the day- excepting the times they glanced at one another in the hallway.

The classes weren't nearly as fun- for both of them. Normally, Ford and Stan would be by each other, Stan cracking jokes and Ford snorting horrifically at every one of them. Ford would point out a flaw in the teachers logic in whatever they were teaching and Stan would laugh and tease him for his big brains until the teachers got so fed up they screamed at them to shut up.

Now...they were subdued. People whispered about the dramatic change in both boys behind their backs. Stan was quiet. Sometimes he would look up to say something witty, only to realize the only one who really appreciated his humor wasn't there.

Ford was...bored {and scared}. Sure, he enjoyed learning, but it was somehow more enjoyable being a know-it-all when at least one person wasn't glaring at him for it. {Seriously, all those sneers thrown his way was starting to worry him. He didn't want to die.}

At home was nearly the same way. Filbrick kept them both busy. One of them would be working on homework and the other would be working in the shop, then they would switch. They saw each other only at dinner. The table was always silent and tense, Filbrick's towering presence suffocating the words from their throats.

Neither of them had used their wings for the last week.

Ford was depressed.

Stan was sick of it.

Stan was a big prankster. He knew how to plan something and make it work. Once, he had got everyone in the school to say nothing but 'boop' whenever they were addressed by a teacher. That had been a good day, even if someone was bullied into ratting him out and he got detention afterward.

Either way, he figured the same applied here. He either had to find a loop-hole...or go behind his father's back.

Both scared the crap out of him. His father was probably the only man on earth Stan wouldn't dare stand up too. Yet...

life had become miserable. _Something_ had to change.

And Stan was going to make sure something did.

...

Ford was...not okay. He had always had anxiety and was easily susceptible to melancholy. Although he responded to depression in a different way from what other usually did. When Ford was feeling good- when he was happy, he still worked _tons,_ but he had some fun too. He did his best to socialize, Stan often helped him out, but still. He would do his best to keep healthy, mentally, and yes, physically.

When he was down...

His anxiety would spike. At the moment he was becoming more and more paranoid about his fellow classmates. At this point he was sure he was going to be murdered by at least eighteen of them, all in different ways.

He also never smiled, he would throw himself into his work, or whatever conspiracy theory he had and not come back to reality. At the moment the only reason he ate anything was that dinner was the only time he got to see his best friend and brother. Even then, he ate very little.

He also drank an _unholy_ amount of coffee. Physical health be darned, he had work to do. So of course, he didn't sleep. Not that he could have anyway. After getting used to someone else's sleeping habits, shuffling and steady breaths for seventeen years, it made sleep very difficult. Even Stan, who slept like a rock most days, had a hard time staring up at an empty ceiling at night.

All of this together meant one thing. He had no idea how to end the purgatory his father had forced upon them. Stan and Ford never really made any friends outside of each other, no one wanted to associate themselves with the freak twins. {If only they knew how much of a freak they both were...}

So, all in all, Ford was helplessly stuck within the confines of his own mind, unaware of how he was letting himself deteriorate, and unable to help himself.

This all happened in just over a month. But I guess that's what separating two people who helped balance each other out does to someone.

...

Stanley had a plan.

It involved a piece of paper, sneaking out, and maybe some theft.

Okay, so maybe running away wasn't the greatest idea, but Stan really did have a plan. But first, he needed to coordinate. Hence the piece of paper.

Two days after he had set up everything, he quickly scribbled down a note explaining everything to Ford. What was happening and what he needed to do. He hadn't told Ford before now, because he was just that awful at keeping secrets. Stan didn't want to risk everything falling apart last second.

Everything started at school that day. They were running to class, so Stan took a quick detour, finding Ford right outside his next hour and grabbed at his shirt to stop him from walking in.

Ford jumped, twisting to get free. Stan let go and Ford looked up in surprise.

"Stanley, what are you doing?"

Stan forced the note in his hand and nodded to it. "Read this, alright? I'm gonna be late- see ya later bro." Stan ran off back towards his next class, all the way on the other side of the building. Ford walked into the room, brows furrowed.

The teacher was blabbing on about something Ford had no interest in learning _again_. So he read the note while he was supposed to be listening. His eyes widened.

It took a moment, but his mind eventually comprehended it completely and he grinned for the first time in forty-one days, eight hours and twenty-three minutes.

* * *

 **:P Got lazy again. I'll let the plan reveal come later. Again, too lazy to proof-read. Hope it makes sense.**

 **Ford: WHY ME.**

 **Stan: WHY AM I THE RESPONSIBLE ONE.**

 **ME: I DON'T KNOW WHATS GOING ON ANYMORE.**


	29. I'm wingin' it at this point

**Hello? Anyone there? I wouldn't blame if ya'll abandoned me...  
**

* * *

The sky grew darker and Ford's foot tapped with apprehension. It was almost time.

The plan was simple enough. Apparently, Stan had slowly stowed away different supplies in his car (including cash) for the last month or so.

He'd also somehow obtained a job.

Ford wasn't sure how that was going to work out, exactly. Still, he trusted Stanley enough to go with it until it could be explained. Now he was just waiting for the sun to fall over the edge of the horizon, Ford groaned. He could feel his wings begging to be stretched.

His job was to jump out a window.

Well, fly out, to be more precise. The note had specified that as soon as the sun fell, Ford was to escape to the beach. Stan was going to be waiting for him.

Although it was never explicitly said out loud, or even written, Ford knew they were running away. Not that he was complaining- he was more worried about his mother than anything, even though Stan had told him that even that had been taken care of. Which Ford could only assume meant that Mom was completely supportive of their decision.

It made Ford wonder about how frightened she'd looked the day everything had changed. How much worse could it have been? He...didn't want to know.

That only left the details- like where they would be staying. If they were still going to school, if they were ever going to have clean laundry again, questions with answers that could only be given by his brother- the one person Ford wasn't allowed to speak to. He still had a hard time comprehending the fact that his father had practically _banned_ him from his twin.

Although he didn't dwell on it just then. He had to focus.

Ford was breaking the rules tonight, he was running _away_ from the rules. It made him let out a spontaneous, tense laugh that quickly died.

Never had Ford ever imagined this. Not in all the daydreams and stories had this been theorized.

The sky suddenly went black and the streetlights flickered weakly on the ground and Ford took a steadying breath as he slipped out from the harness, his wings stretching free. He let out a whimper as his wings cracked and cried out at him, sore from being restrained for so long. He shook them out, trying not to hit anything. Ford stared out into the distance through his open window. Jaw tightening, his lips set in a determined and concentrated frown, Ford took a step back.

It was time.

Running forward he swooped down, quickly snatching up the bag he'd packed and nearly forgotten about before shooting like a bullet out the window. He had a brief moment of panic before letting his wings expand above him and catching the air beneath him. Suddenly his eyes were wide with relief and joy.

This was freedom. He let out a true laugh compared to the tense one before as he made his way towards the beach.

...

Stan was waiting on the shore, letting his wings hang free. He didn't really care if anyone saw just then. Although, the feeling was a useless one. No one was allowed on the beach after nightfall. {I think it's pretty obvious how they would get over the gate.}

The tips of his feathers slid through the water and Stan lifted them out, shaking away the droplets. He'd been on the beach ever since school ended. He had been worried that if he had returned home that he wouldn't be able to get away. The only reason he let Ford stay back was that he had only just earlier given him the note and Ford needed time to grab whatever he wanted to bring before they left. It wouldn't have been fair not to let him have some choice in what they brought. Plus, Ford was slightly more attached to inanimate objects, like their living quarters for the last seventeen years, than Stan ever was.

Stopping abruptly, Stan fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Crossing his legs beneath him, Stan sat on the sandy shore and stared out into the horizon, a small smile on his features as he relaxed. His feet were in the water, but he didn't really mind. He'd been on the beach for several hours- making sure he had everything he wanted and just wandering the beachside. He took off his shoes at some point, but he thought he might live to regret that. The beach wasn't called 'Glass Shard' for absolutely nothing.

Stan thought about how he was going to manage to go to work, go to school, and make sure his brother was alright all at the same time.

The sun fell below the waves of the ocean's extent and Stan picked himself off the sand. Guess he would just have to wing it.

Hehe, puns.

* * *

 **What Job did Stan get? Did anyone spot Ford flying? Did anyone see Stan walking? Did Filbrick already note their absence? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF _The_ _Winged Stans au!_**

 **Stan: That was the most cliche sales pitched I've ever heard.**

 **Ford: Cliche, overused, and unoriginal, but hopefully effective? I don't want them to abandon us just yet, the story is just getting good!**

 **Stan: Yeah yeah, just saying she coulda done better.**


End file.
